


Kingmaker

by Umerue



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Failing expectations, Family, Female Jon Snow, Feminist Themes, Gen, Love, Not Beta Read, Politics, Survival, The Old Gods (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-09 16:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 51,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16453286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umerue/pseuds/Umerue
Summary: Her father had wanted a Visenya enough to die for. But Rhaella Sand, a bastard daughter of a prince had not inherited a drop of fire in her blood, failing miserably as a fierce warrior queen. She wanted to be a lady, marry a kind, honourable knight and have a keep of her own.She didn’t mean to give Viserys a dragon, murder enemies of their family with a housecat and accidentally secure his throne. Or slowly fall in love with a man who wields a shovel as his preferred weapon. Life is a song, and Rhaella shall have it.





	1. Tower of Joy. Lyanna. 283 AC.

**Author's Note:**

> Most girl heroes are fierce, brave women skilled with weapons. I wanted to write about a girl who was expected to become a hero and failed miserably before finding her own way. I was also interested in what it would be like to be a shy, reserved bastard girl in a world governed by noble men.
> 
> What if Rhaegar and Lyanna's daughter did not inherit a drop of wolf's blood?  
> What if Rhaegar's precious Visenya wanted to dress in silk gowns and have babies instead of fighting the Others?  
> What if a Targaryen isn't ready to sacrifice everything for a dragon and ends up disliking the pride of her house?
> 
> The story has a typical GoT / ASOIAF warnings and themes. There is violence, non-con and underage sex/relationships, but nothing close to Ramsay-levels of disturbing. I'm not a native speaker, and I don't have a beta, so there will be grammatical errors I'm unable to catch with spellcheck. I'm halfway through the story now, and I'm not yet sure where it will end. As always, I'm happy to hear your comments and ideas because they make writing fun.

They had locked the door, of course. But the tower had windows, and they were unlocked. Lyanna had no plans to fall into her death, even though her last months in the Tower of Joy had been anything but joyful. Kissing Rhaegar, or embracing him, had felt impossible after the news of Brandon and Father reached Dorne. When she tried to find the words to explain her changed feelings, she had seen an unexpected side of her prince. Lyanna couldn’t understand how a man who had stolen him from Robert, setting seven kingdoms in flame for his passion, could suddenly end their love with a simple nod of acceptance.  
“I understand.”, Rhaegar had said evenly. “But you are pregnant with my child, and you must remain here until the child is born.”  
“I want to go home to Winterfell. Ned would protect me. Robert would be angry, but he would not have reason to rebel. I can tell them the truth.”, Lyanna had tried.  
“I’m sorry, Lyanna, but it’s not possible. I will not endanger my child by allowing you to leave. After the baby is born, you are free to leave.”  
“But the rebellion!”  
Rhaegar’s jaw tightened.  
“The rebellion is not what I wanted, but I can’t let you go. Not yet.”  


She could not leave, but he was riding to face the rebels. Rhaegar was already mounted on his horse. He would take Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold with him to the Trident. Only Arthur Dayne would remain to guard her tower. Lyanna leaned as far out from a window as she could, trying to catch the words from mercurial south wind.  
“Promise me. If the Usurper wins, and I’m dead when the child is born. I know you don’t believe, but I do. Promise me, Arthur.”, Rhaegar’s voice was barely audible, and Lyanna tried to breathe very quietly.  
“You can’t ask me this. I need to be at your side.”, Arthur replied.  
“I’m not asking as your friend. I’m asking as your prince.”  
Arthur glanced towards the tower and saw Lyanna in the window. He said something to prince, and they began to walk down the path. Lyanna cursed when she realized she could no longer hear them.

\--

Rhaegar was dead. Rhaegar was dead, killed by Robert at Trident, and still she was imprisoned in this horrible tower. No matter what she said, no matter how much she pleaded, the Sword of Morning was immovable.  
“My prince is dead, but I am a sworn brother of Kingsguard, my lady.”, Arthur said. “The child you carry is Rhaegar’s last living child, and I will protect her from the Usurper with my life.”  
His sadness was so deep that Lyanna felt almost bad for not being able to mourn like he did. But she could not. She was angry, and frightened. She had never thought Rhaegar would die, or Lannisters would murder Aerys, Elia and the children. When she laid in her bed, trying to fall asleep, she wondered if Robert had known Lannister men would murder Rhaegar’s children, and if her fiancée would kill her baby, too.  
She prayed the Old Gods that Ned would find her first.

\--

When her time came, Arthur sent a word to his sister. There was only Ashara Dayne in the birthing chamber, and Lyanna was frightened. She knew Ashara had never had children, and her face was sad and hard in a way which reminded her too much of Arthur. She tried asking where the midwife was, saying that she needed a maester or at least someone experienced to help her, but Ashara told her firmly that there was nobody else they could trust.   


It took longer than a day to bring her baby to world, and Lyanna had never felt so much pain. Even though she didn’t have a maester, Ashara had brought milk of the poppy with her and given her several drops to help with the pain. She wasn’t sure if everything was fine. Lyanna had never listened much old wives’ birthing stories, but did they really have to change the bedding twice because there was so much blood?  
“One last push, Lyanna. I can already see the head.”, Ashara encouraged. Lyanna could see Arthur standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on the bookcase instead of her open legs.  
She felt the burning around her stomach, and screamed, pushing with all her might. A baby slid out from her, and Lyanna slumped on her bed. Her strength was spent, and the milk of the poppy Ashara had given her made her head spin. From her position, she could not see her child. But she heard a cry of a new-born baby when water was splashed in a basin, and the sound made her smile.   
“I’m so sorry, Ashara.”, Arthur murmured in low voice.  
“Don’t be. I never wanted this to happen, but maybe this way something good comes from loss.”, Ashara’s voice was thick with emotion. “Now go and find Wylla. I want you gone before the Usurper’s men come.”  
Lyanna felt her stomach tensing again, and her pain made Ashara turn back to her. Arthur left the room, and Lyanna saw only the back of his white cloak when he descended the stairs.   
“How can he leave?”, she asked from Ashara. “I thought he would stay to guard my baby. My son is the rightful king of Seven Kingdoms. We were wed. We said the words in front of the heart tree. What if Robert comes for my son?”  
Ashara was taken with surprise, but she recovered quickly.  
“Arthur has a plan. You don’t need worry about Robert. He will never know.”  
 She was exhausted, but Lyanna would not give in and fall asleep before she had held her baby.  
“My baby.”, she breathed through her pain. “I want to hold him.”  
“Ashara.”, she tried again. “Is it a girl or a boy?”  
Her eyelids were heavy, and it was hard to keep her eyes open, but Lyanna saw Ashara glance towards a cradle which had waited in the corner for months. Hesitantly, Ashara stood up, and walked slowly towards the cradle. Lyanna listened the soft sound of fabric rustling and fought to keep her eyes open. She was so tired. The coverings felt cold and wet against her legs, clinging to her limbs.  
When Ashara looked back at Lyanna, her purple eyes were glistening wetly. She gently turned the blanket to cover the baby’s face, rocking the child. Lyanna saw only a glimpse of dark hair, but it made her smile.   
“He looks like a Stark.”, she breathed. No white hair. He was hers, not Rhaegar’s.   
“He does.”, Ashara agreed when she set the baby into crook of Lyanna’s arm and pulled the wet coverings over them both. The smell of iron filled the room, mixed with scent of roses.  
Lyanna’s tired arms wrapped around the small blanketed form, and she closed her eyes. The baby resting against her side felt a bit cold, but he would soon get warm in her arms. She knew it. He was with her mother, now. Babies needed their mothers.  
When Ashara Dayne’s façade broke down and she began to weep, Lyanna no longer heard it.

\--

“Thank you.”, Eddard Stark said hollowly. “We will take them back to Winterfell.”  
“The baby, too?”, Ashara asked, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking.   
“He was a Stark, too.”, the reply was firm. “I don’t care if he was the last dragon. My sister’s son will never be displayed like those poor children in Red Keep. I will bury Lyanna and her son in the crypts. It’s their place.”  
Ashara nodded, trying to ignore prickling in her eyes.  
His eyes softened, turning grey and sad like a fog.  
“I’m sorry.”, Eddard offered clumsily.  “If things had gone different—”  
“But they did not.”, Ashara interrupted. “My brother is gone. Princess Elia was murdered. You are married.”  
“My honour—"  
She shook her head.  
“There is nothing you can say to make this better.”, Ashara turned away, and pushed past the northerners who had loaded a coffin on a horse cart. Seeing it pierced her heart, bringing tears into her eyes, but Ashara ignored it, fleeing up the stairs of Palestone Sword.

When Ashara reached her rooms in the top of the tower, she locked the door and began to weep in painful, raw sobs.  She wept, thinking about stupid Ned Stark with his sweet grey eyes and blind trust. She cursed Arthur, who had asked her this, and her own naivete in tourney of Harrenhall.   
A sob not her own called her from a cradle set next to bed. A tiny hand waved uncontrollably in the air, accompanied by a keen, needy cry.

The dragon princess whom the realm had burned for looked at Ashara Dayne with tearful grey eyes, which were soft as a fog. She had Ned’s eyes.   
“Don’t cry, my sweet.”, Ashara said, hiccupping. “Mother is here.”  
She pulled her bodice down her shoulders and lifted the baby from the cradle. The baby latched on breast, oblivious to tears falling on her. Ashara thought of her dead son on his way to North and wept.


	2. Lemonsweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 285 AC, Starfall. Oberyn Martell visits Ashara, bringing news across the sea. Ashara is faced with a choice between a sword and a peacock.

“Lemonsweet?”, Ashara offered, pouring pale yellow liquid in a glass. She took a sip and smiled mischievously at Oberyn Martell.  
“Unless you suspect I’m trying to poison you, of course.”, she added.  
Oberyn laughed.  
“I would not put it past you, my lady.”, he said, taking a glass. “It would be an interesting beginning to relationship.”  
Ashara rolled her eyes fondly.  
“I know you entirely too well to even consider.”  
“I treat my paramours well.”, Oberyn noted lightly.   
Elia’s death had aged him. Even though his mouth smiled, there was hidden bitterness in his dark eyes, Ashara fancied. She knew that Oberyn would not have travelled to Starfall to sing songs about her beauty. Why now, when they had known each other for years? The Viper must have some other agenda.   
She was saved by a nudge on her skirt.  
“Mother.”, a shy voice whispered.  
A warm, genuine smile warmed Ashara’s face when she looked behind her chair.   
“I brought you flowers.”, a small girl held two desert sunflowers in her fist. Her sister-in-law would not be happy to see the broken stalks in her garden, but Taryne would change her mind after she had her first child. There was no better use for sunflowers than this.  
“Thank you, darling.”, she said, taking the flowers and breathing their scent. “They are lovely. You made mother very happy.”  
Her daughter’s serious little face lit up with a smile. Ashara loved it, and she pressed an affectionate kiss on her forehead.    
“Another suitor?”, Oberyn asked with amusement.  
“I fear you can’t compete with my one true love.”, Ashara said playfully. “Come to meet Prince Oberyn, Rhaella.”  
Oberyn, a father of four daughters, smiled at the little girl and reached to take her hand to kiss her knuckles.   
“Hello, Rhaella. I am your mother’s friend, Oberyn.  Starfall has two shining beauties now.”, he said charmingly. “A dark star and a white star. You have a lovely silver hair.”  
Rhaella’s grey eyes were round and huge, and she stared at Oberyn’s shiny black boots, too afraid to say thing or even look at him.   
Ashara kept smile on her lips, nudging Rhaella gently.  
“Now it’s time to curtsy, love.”, she whispered in her ear.  
Even though she was nervous, Rhaella made a surprisingly graceful curtsy for a two-year-old.   
“Then you say: I’m honoured to meet you, Prince Oberyn.”, Ashara continued her whispered instruction.  
“I’m honoured to meet you, prince Oberyn.”, Rhaella addressed the prince’s boots shyly. She risked a quick glance at Oberyn, much to amusement of the prince, and then scrambled to hide behind Ashara’s chair.  
“Would you go to kitchens and tell them to bring lemon cakes? Tell Marya that I promised you one.”, Ashara asked.  
“Yes, mother.”, Rhaella promised, and started to run towards the kitchens.  
Oberyn watched her go, and only when Rhaella had vanished behind the orange trees, he turned back to Ashara.  
“I visited Braavos.”, he said, taking out a parchment decorated with gold, seals and ribbons and offering it to Ashara. She didn’t reach for it, keeping her hands on her lap. Oberyn raised his eyebrows in a question.  
“I want nothing to do with it.”, Ashara said. “My dearest friend is dead. Her children are dead because her husband’s foolishness, and my brother is as good as gone. Ned Stark took my son to north and I couldn’t even bury his bones. Without my daughter, I would have died of broken heart long ago. I’ve drank my fill of rebellion. I want none of it here.”  
“Arthur doesn’t seem to think so.”, Oberyn said, watching her for reaction. “He called your daughter Visenya.”   
“Arthur rode off and left me with a baby he has never seen but once. He was Rhaegar’s best friend, but I was _Elia’s_. I have no interest in serving Rhaegar’s obsessions.”, Ashara’s reply was sharp. Her tone softened when she continued: “You saw her. My Rhaella is furthest thing from a warrior queen there is. She is shy, sweet little thing who likes dolls. Even my brother’s hunting hawk adores her. It dropped a mole at her feet, and she started to cry because the mole was dead.”  
“Having no ambition might be best for her.”, Oberyn remarked, pocketing his parchment again. “My brother would not be pleased to see another contender for the throne now that he has tied Arianne’s fate to prince Viserys’. I admit Dorian had his reservations on the issue of your child, and your brother’s loyalty to late prince did nothing to ease them, but now that I’ve met the dragon princess myself and heard the what her mother has to say, I shall tell my brother there is no reason to worry.”  
“She is not a princess, but a baseborn child of a prince and his paramour.”, Ashara said.  
In her heart, she wasn’t certain if it was right to do this to a daughter she loved, but Lyanna Stark’s feverish words about marrying prince Rhaegar in front of a heart tree would not bring Rhaella anything but grief. A tree wasn’t a septon, the prince had already been wedded to another, and Ashara Dayne would not see her daughter dead because Martells wanted to put Arianne on the throne with Viserys. Privately, Ashara wondered how the little king was handling all this. Poor boy had lost much, and Arthur was not a replacement for a mother. Both Willem Darry and her brother were more capable of single-minded loyalty than empathy.   
“I’m giving my daughters a choice between marriage or whatever interests them, but it might not suit every little Sand in our desert. Daemon Sand, the bastard of Godsgrace, is an interesting boy of nine. His father has asked me to take him as a squire, and I’m considering it. He might prove suitable for both purposes. Seven only knows my daughters have no interest in marrying, denying me my chance to meddle.”, Oberyn remarked lazily.  
Ashara listened, uncomfortably aware of motivation behind Oberyn’s words. Daemon Sand might be a boy of nine now, but it would be fourteen years before Rhaella would be a woman grown. By then Daemon Sand’s loyalty would belong solely to Oberyn, and Ashara did not want a boy whom they could not trust.   
“My daughter is barely two years old, and children change. By the time Rhaella is a woman grown, Daemon Sand might have found his match elsewhere or taken a white cloak in service of Arianne and her husband.”, she remarked with a smile.  
Oberyn’s smile told clearly that the prince wasn’t fooled by Ashara’s parry, but he wasn’t going to push the issue. Yet.  
“Even if you want nothing to do with rebellions, I have another parchment to offer you. I brought you a letter from Arthur.”, he pulled out a thick roll of sealed parchment from his pocket.  
“How many times you read this?”, Ashara asked shrewdly. Seals didn’t mean anything when the courier was Oberyn.  
“Only twice.”, said the unrepentant prince. “But my Obara copied all four pages of sword instruction. She plans to use Arthur’s advice to drill her little sisters.”

Arthur’s letter was five pages long, and four of them were instructions for how to start training ‘Visenya’ in swordsmanship, with a suggestion of purchasing a small harp for her. Reading her brother’s letter had made Ashara feel uneasy, and the feeling lingered when she went to tuck Rhaella into bed in their chamber in Palestone Sword. She helped her to bathe, washing Rhaella’s hair, and then put the little girl to sit in front of her vanity.   
“You look like a doll in swaddling bands, wrapped in a towel like that.”, Ashara said, gently untangling a knot with her fingers.  
“I am not a doll.”, Rhaella said firmly, swinging her legs on too high seat.  
“You are not.”, Ashara sighed. “If only Arthur understood that as well.”  
Rhaella, who couldn’t quite follow her train of thought, ignored her comment and pointed at a small bottle of orange blossom water hopefully. Amused, Ashara gave in.  
“Only a little dab.”, she said firmly, turning the bottle upside down and dropping a single drop on her fingers.   
“Thank you, lady mother.”, Rhaella said happily, offering her wrists so Ashara could swipe orange water over the pulse points on her hands and neck.  Her wish fulfilled, Rhaella was content to sit and let Ashara brush her hair. But Arthur’s letter was still bothering Ashara.  
“Do you want a sword for your name day? Or a harp?”, Ashara asked.  
“I would like a pet.”, her daughter said shyly. “A pretty bird with lots of pretty colours and a big tail!”  
Their eyes met in the mirror, and Ashara’s worry melted into love. Her sister, Allyria, was fostered in the Water Gardens and she had sent Rhaella drawings of birds she had seen there. The one with a peacock was on the place of honor on Rhaella’s bedside table, so she could look at them and have good dreams.  
A peacock, then, Ashara decided. Oberyn would enjoy procuring her one. But even Oberyn did not expect his daughters to follow his own interests. Arthur didn't know her daughter. It was easy to write instructions from the other side of the narrow sea, but Rhaella was her daughter. It didn't matter who had birthed her; Ashara had nursed her and soothed her and loved her. She wanted what was best for her. Arthur was a man, and all noble boys were expected to take up a sword. Ashara didn't want to force her child to make herself an oddity among her own gender when Rhaella didn't show a slightest interest towards fighting. A silver-haired head bent over a harp was not safe, either. She didn't want to see her daughter spend her whole life chasing after a memory of dead man, trying to replicate his life to smallest detail and forgetting to find her own happiness. After what had happened to Elia, Ashara didn't think she could stomach hero-worshipping of Rhaegar Targaryen even if Arthur felt otherwise. No. A peacock was a much better choice.  



	3. Starfall, 291

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur returns to Starfall.

Aunt Allyria had returned home from the Water Gardens and brought many guests with him. Suitors, Rhaella’s mother said, with a small wistful smile. The knights had been like a flock of birds, filling every nook and granny of Starfall and wearing their house colours proudly on display. They liked to make fiery eyes at ladies and walk stately, in slow steps, so they would have more time to stare at aunt Allyria or Rhaella’s mother. Lord Daeron Vaith from House Vaith of Red Dunes reminded Rhaella a lot about a parrot, because he had a particularly scorching eye-blaze. It was really a pity all the guests had left yesterday, because watching them had been great fun.  
“Do you think aunt Ashara will marry lord Daeron?”, her cousin Edric asked. They were feeding the birds their evening meal.  
“I don’t think so. I told mother that John the Oak thinks lord Daeron would be a great parrot if he only had wings, and mother laughed until her eyes watered, saying that John the Oak is right about it.”, Rhaella said thoughtfully.  
She glanced at Edric, who was only five years old, and added firmly:  
“But you mustn’t tell him. Lords don’t like being called parrots. It’s impolite, but since Jon the Oak is only a bird, he doesn’t know better.”  
“Parrot, parrot!”, Jon the Oak croaked from his favourite tree.  
Rhaella sighed. For someone named after the man who had invented chivalry, Jon the Oak could be terribly loud. She was still trying to teach him to wait his turn in a conversation, but there was not much progress.  
“Yes, a parrot.”, she agreed, and put seeds on a plate.  
Florian, her peacock, hurried to meal and promptly sat on their food, spreading his tail feathers wide and screeching at Edric.  
The boy recoiled, and Rhaella frowned.  
“Knights don’t screech.”, she pointed a blaming finger at Florian. “I know you are being courteous on your own way, but uncle really doesn’t like it when you scream.”  
“How’s that courteous?”, Edric peered through his fingers shielding his eyes.  
“Florian is guarding food for his lady. It’s a part of their courtship.”, Rhaella explained. “Jonquil! Come to eat!”  
“Sitting on her food?”, Edric was not convinced. “Sounds silly.”  
“Jonquil thinks it’s very chivalrous.”, Rhaella said. “Look, here she comes.”  
Florian ruffled his colourful tail, trying to make certain the eyes were as wide as possible. When the little peahen approached, the peacock moved away from the plate, strutting and prancing around.  
“How do you know what she thinks of it?”, Edric wrinkled his nose.  
“I just know.”, Rhaella shrugged. “Come, we still need to feed Florys the Fox and her husbands. One of the boy birds built her a new nest last week and now she has three. They haven’t figured out Florys is having eggs with all of them. I don’t think they will. They are not very bright.”  
One of the nests was on an orange tree, and Edric climbed on the tree to see if oranges were ripe yet. Rhaella was eight years old and a lady, while Edric was five and only a boy, so she declined his invitation to follow and waited patiently on the ground. Ladies did not climb on trees to show their unmentionables for anyone passing below. Even if her unmentionables were pink and there was a pretty bowtie in the front. But Edric was taking longer than usually.  
“Did you fall?”, Rhaella called him.  
“There is a ship.”, Edric yelled back. “A new ship in the harbour!”  
Rhaella sighed. Starfall was on an island, and ships were not uncommon sight.  
“Come down!”, she shouted. “We are going to be late, and your mother said that if you tear another pair of trousers before market day, she will spank you!”  
Edric’s worried face peeked at her through the leaves.  
“Can’t you fix them? Please.”, he begged.  
Rhaella shifted uncomfortably. Spanking was terrible, but it was not right to keep secrets from parents.  
“Please, Rhaella. Mother wouldn’t notice a thing.”, Edric jumped from a tree.  
“All right.”, she sighed. “If you sneak them to my room before bedtime, I’ll see what I can do.”

\--

When Rhaella took a good look at the bundle Edric had smuggled to her, she started to regret her promise to help. Edric was horrible to his clothes. One pair of trousers had big holes on both knees, the second had a ripped back seam, and the third pair had left leg completely shredded. Rhaella was good at sewing, but this was beyond her. She would need to ask help from mother.  
When Rhaella had turned eight, Edric’s father who was lord of the Starfall had given her a bedchamber of her own. It was on the highest level of the Palestone Sword. Mother had helped her to sew pretty white curtains and crochet a bedspread for her bed, and Rhaella was very proud of it. Sometimes she missed mother, but she was no longer a baby and Ashara’s chamber was on the level below hers. Mother didn’t mind if she came to see her, and she would come to tuck Rhaella in bed in any case.  
Taking Edric’s unfortunate trousers, Rhaella walked down the stairs – she did not skip, because mother had told her that she must not play on the stairs – and turned right on a small landing which led to mother’s room. She raised her hand to knock.

It took longer than usually before mother answered at the door. She was not alone. Rhaella saw a man standing in the room near the window and started to retreat.  
“I can come back later.”, she said shyly, hiding Edric’s trousers behind her back. She didn’t want him to get spanked. But the man was looking at her, even though Rhaella was too shy to look at him.  
“Visenya?”, he asked, sounding happy.  
Rhaella blinked, not understanding.  
“This is my daughter, _Rhaella_.”, mother said. Her mouth was set in a way which told Rhaella that mother was upset about something, but she gently pulled Rhaella inside, closing the door after them.  
“This is my brother, Arthur, who has lived elsewhere after the war.”, mother explained.  
Arthur smiled. He looked very kind, and he had a fine armour.  
“I guarded prince Viserys and princess Daenerys until prince Viserys had his sixteenth name day. Now he is a grown man, so I came to you.”  
Rhaella nodded uncertainly. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say, so she looked at mother for help, not wanting to be rude to uncle Arthur. But Arthur caught her look.  
“Is there something you want to ask?”, Arthur asked.  
“I’m sorry.”, Rhaella said, looking at her toes, her face red with embarrassment. “Maester Gerron says I ask too many questions about birds, disrupting his lessons, but I thought Kingsguard are meant to guard a king until they die. I don’t mean to be rude, but why you would come here?”  
“Sometimes a Kingsguard can— “, mother began, but Arthur interrupted her.  
“Haven’t you been told?”, he demanded in a sharp voice. “You are a princess. Daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen. He wanted to name you Visenya after the warrior queen. I sent you letters and brought you a new sword.”  
“I am a lady. Swords are for boys.”, she said in a small voice, too shocked to say anything else. “I like birds.”  
“Ashara, you should have told her!”, Arthur snapped before calming his voice and turning towards her. “I swore an oath to your father, Rhaella. Prince Rhaegar gave me a task, and you were meant to train as a warrior, so it would be easier to complete it. But it’s no matter. I will help you.”  
Rhaella nodded reflexively, not truly understanding.  
“Mother?”, she asked, on verge of tears.  
“Damn you, Arthur.”, mother’s voice was angry. “You can’t just walk here and ruin her whole life.”  
Mother knelt and pulled her into a hug.  
“Love, I once had a baby of my own. He was not well, and when he died two days before you were born, I was so sad I thought I was going to die, too. But then you were born. I was there, helping your first mother, but she got sick and died.”, mother spoke quickly.  
Rhaella nodded, her eyes clouding with tears.  
“You were such a lovely baby. I loved you from the moment I saw you. You helped me to be less sad. I wanted to have you as my own baby, so I became your mother. I will always be your mother.”, mother’s voice was very upset.  
“Didn’t my father want me?”, Rhaella blurted. She had always planned to ask, but it had felt rude, and she had not wanted to make her mother sad by asking. She had asked from aunt Allyria, who had said that mother had loved a man who died in the war.  
“He wanted you very much.”, Arthur said. “He wanted you more than anything. He gave me to you, so I would take care of you, and now that you are old enough, we will leave together.”  
“What?!?”, mother suddenly let go of Rhaella, standing up and turning to face Arthur like an angry bee. Rhaella swallowed, blindly reaching towards mother. Her fingers found Ashara’s skirt and gripped the soft, thin fabric.  
“There is somewhere we need to go. You are a princess, and I promised your father to take you there.”  
Arthur extended a hand towards Rhaella, who didn’t move.  
“Mother.”, she said in a small voice. “I’m afraid.”  
“Don’t do this.”, Ashara warned, stepping between them. She was furious. “I know you had different expectations. But you have lived on the other side of the narrow sea with prince Viserys and his sister, while we had to survive here. Haven’t we already suffered enough for Rhaegar’s vision? Wasn’t it enough that Elia and her children were murdered, countless people died and Targaryens lost the crown just because he wanted a girl?”  
“Every man makes mistakes. But he was my friend. He left me in the Tower of Joy for a reason.”, Arthur said, looking pained. “Had I been with him at the Trident, things might have turned out differently. He knew it, but he judged Visen—Rhaella’s task more important than his own survival.”  
“Whatever it is, it wasn’t worth all that death.”, Ashara snapped. “Be reasonable. We are talking about _my child_.”  
Rhaella stood very close to her, a small hand gripping on Ashara’s skirt. Ashara wished she had a sword.  
“Rhaegar’s child.”, he corrected.  
“I’m your sister.”  
“But he was my prince, and I swore an oath. I’m very sorry, Ashara.”, Arthur said quietly, and then he moved.  
  
Ashara was not prepared for a hard push which made her fall. Rhaella screamed, and there was a sound of fabric ripping when the seam of Ashara’s dress broke. Arthur yanked the child against his chest, holding her with one arm, and kicked the door open. Ashara scrambled up on her feet, but Arthur was already running down the stairs of Palestone Sword.  
“Mother!”, Rhaella screamed in shrill, panicked voice.  
“STOP HIM!!”, Ashara yelled. She held her skirts in her hands, running as fast as she could, but Arthur had long legs and he had always been faster, damn it. She kicked her shoes off and stuffed her too long hems under her waistband, taking the steps two or three at the time and barely keeping her balance, but Ashara didn’t think clearly. She had to catch Arthur.  
She stumbled over the last three steps, but Arthur was already racing through the Great Hall and towards the door. But their oldest brother stood near the door, thank the Seven!  
“DAVOS STOP HIM!!!”, she screamed at the top of her lungs. Why the corridor had to be so damn long?  
Davos moved to stand on Arthur’s way, and Ashara saw a glimpse of Rhaella’s tearstained face over Arthur’s shoulder for a moment before Arthur fixed his grip. She heard a cold quiet hiss of a sword being drawn out from the scabbard.  
“Arthur.”, Davos said thickly, looking at a bared blade his little brother was pointing at him.  
“I’m a Kingsguard.”, Arthur said. “I served prince Rhaegar. I swore an oath to keep his secrets and obey his commands as long as I live. I must do this.”  
“Do what?!? Give back my child!”, Ashara screamed, dodging between long tables blocking her way.  
“I would not harm her. You know it.”, Arthur turned to look over his shoulder. His expression was desperate. “But I can’t break my promise. You must understand, Ashara. I will protect her and bring her back after our task is done.”  
“Go to hell with your promises! Rhaegar is dead! What can be important enough to draw Dawn at your own brother and steal your sister’s child?”, Ashara shouted, hitting her knee painfully on an edge of a long bench. Rhaella was crying quietly, and every sob clawed Ashara’s heart.  
“Step aside, brother.”, Arthur said, drawing a sharp breath. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you won’t let us go, I will. Please. We must be on our way before the word spreads and the Usurper sends his men after us. Whole castle has heard Ashara shouting. You can’t risk everyone’s lives by making me stay.”  
Their brother bit his lip and quietly stepped aside.  
“No, Davos, don’t you dare!”, Ashara screamed. “NO! NO!!!”  
Arthur wasted no time, grabbing Rhaella and pushing open the door to rain and darkness. Ashara climbed over a table, plates and cups falling on the floor when she jumped down. A sharp pain pierced her left side, and she didn’t know if it was breathlessness or a broken heart when she flew past Davos and to door of Starfall, only to see Arthur on a horse. Someone must have kept it ready for him and opened the gates. The sound of hooves clattered against the wet stones of castle yard.  
“RHAELLA!!”, Ashara screamed, but the horse was already past the gate. She ran nonetheless, bare feet slapping wet ground. The stones were sharp and uneven, but she barely noticed. Her heart hurt worse. “RHAELLA!!”  
She got on the curve of path towards harbour, when she saw a ship leaving the docks below.  
“No.”, Ashara whispered. From her higher viewpoint, she could see a glimpse of silver on the deck, and something inside her broke. She fell on her knees and wept.


	4. Summer Sea, 291.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to explain his actions to Rhaella.

She was a very quiet girl. Having guarded Lyanna Stark for almost a year, Arthur had expected her daughter would be more difficult. But after her initial shock passed, Rhaella had not screamed or shouted, and made no attempt to run away.  
It somehow made him feel worse.

He sat on the edge of bed in their small cabin, staring at his hands and wondered how to do this.  
“I am sorry.”, Arthur said. “Ashara has never taken it well when I kept a secret from her, but my oath forbid me from telling her why I did this.  She is very angry with me now. I asked a lot from her, when her baby died. I had planned to take you to your grandmother, Queen Rhaella, but Robert Baratheon had already taken King’s Landing, and there weren’t enough men to hold Dragonstone. It didn’t feel like safe place for you.”  
Rhaella’s eyes were dark grey in the light of a lamp, and she reminded Arthur of a small owl, cocooned in rough grey blanket. Only a pale, tearstained face and big dark eyes were visible.  
“You must wonder why we didn’t leave you with your…first mother.”, Arthur fumbled to find the right word to describe Lyanna Stark. “Lyanna Stark was very young when she had you. She had fallen in love with your father, but when the war started, she changed her mind and wanted to go home. Your father was an honourable, good man. But he was a prince, too, with duties and responsibilities. And princes can’t always think like ordinary men do. You were his daughter, a Targaryen, with every right and duty the name carries.  Lyanna was fierce and proud and… Very, very young. Her brother, Eddard Stark, fought for Baratheons, and she was Robert’s bride. They loved her, but they would not have loved you. Prince Rhaegar told Lyanna she could not leave before you were born, and she was angry.”  
Rhaella watched him but said nothing.  
“After you were born, I took you from her and rode with you to Starfall. You were so small then.”, Arthur said. “I gave you to Wylla, and she put you in a cradle in Ashara’s room. You had a head full of silver hair. Your grandmother made me draw a picture of you, when I told her about you at Dragonstone. Queen Rhaella shook her head and said that even though I was a good knight, I was clearly not a painter. Prince Viserys laughed. He was still a little boy, then, same age as you. He was a sad, frightened boy. It was good to make him laugh.”  
“His parents died.”, Rhaella’s reply was so quiet that Arthur barely heard her.  
“Yes, they did.”, Arthur said. “I lived with him and princess Daenerys for many years. First, we stayed in Braavos. We had a house with red door there, and a lemon tree. But then Ser Willem Darry got sick, and we had to leave. It wasn’t safe with only one knight against the Usurper’s assassins. Princess Daenerys was too small, and prince Viserys is… He is no good with the sword.”, Arthur admitted wryly. “Seven knows we tried, but it is the truth.”  
The tiny measure of trust he had achieved melted away like snow in sunlight. Rhaella pulled the blanket over her head, and for the rest of the night, Arthur laid awake, wondering how he could ever fix this.

On the next day, he gave her some bread and thin slices of salted fish for breakfast and took her to walk on the deck if Rhaella promised to be good. She nodded, quiet and withdrawn, and walked obediently three times around the small ship without a word to crew.  
“I brought a practice sword for you.”, Arthur said when they stopped on an empty corner at the back of the ship.  
“I don’t want to be a knight.”, she said quietly, and said nothing else on the whole day.

“Where are we going?”, Rhaella asked on the third day. It was blowing hard and waves were high; walks on the deck were out of question and they had been holed in the small cabin since morning.  
Grateful for her inquiry, Arthur pulled out a frayed pouch of letters and patted the place next to him.  
“Come to look at these and I’ll show you.”, he said. The ship lurched, but Rhaella kept her balance and quickly scuttled to sit on Arthur’s bunk.  
He carefully unfolded an old, colourful map painted on a canvas.  
“That isn’t Dorne. Or Essos.”, Rhaella said.  
“No, it isn’t. It’s a map of Lands Beyond the Wall. Your father liked to read, and he found this from the library of Red Keep. He also found a diary, which I don’t have, but the diary was a reason why we are on this journey.”, Arthur looked at Rhaella. She was listening quietly, but her expression was hard to decipher.  
“A Targaryen bastard called Brynden Rivers had written it. He was a Master of Whispers for King Aerys the First and Maekar the First, serving during all three Blackfyre rebellions. Aegon the Unlikely sent him to the Wall, where he was elected as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, but he vanished while ranging beyond the Wall forty years ago. Everyone thought him dead until a raven brought this.”  
Arthur showed her a short note written with a red ink.  
“Your father received at least four notes like this, but this is the only one I have. A raven brought them to his window. At first, he thought someone was playing him a fool, but the man calling himself Brynden Rivers knew many things anyone, not even a Master of Whispers, should not have known. He saw too much.”, Arthur said uncomfortably. “It was like he knew about King Aerys’… affliction before it happened. Brynden Rivers told your father that he must have three children, ‘three heads of a dragon’ and the third one should have blood of the First Men. Rhaegar told me that Rivers has something very important, ‘a weapon to pass on for the Prince Who Was Promised’ or something like that, and he would only give it to you because ‘you are alike’. I don’t know what Rivers meant, but your father believed him.”  
“Brynden Rivers doesn’t sound very honourable.”, Rhaella said uncertainly.  
“No, he doesn’t. And that is why I wanted you to learn how to use a sword. One can never be too careful with soothsayers.”, Arthur said grimly.  
He looked at the map and pressed his lips together.  
“I’m a simple man. I don’t care about ‘impeding dark’ or prophecies or heads of a dragon. But a knight is only as worthy as his word, and I promised your father.”  
Rhaella bit her lip, looking at the map.  
“Can we go home after that?”, she blurted.  
“ We will go here to meet Rivers so he can give you his weapon.”, Arthur tapped his fingers on a cross marked in forested region north of Eastwatch and near the coast. “If he still lives, he is over a hundred years old and a deserter, so it makes sense he could not come to south to pass it to someone of his family. I think it’s probably Dark Sister. Rivers was the last known person to wield Queen Visenya’s sword, and even if the passing of years have softened his head and made him senile, a Valyrian steel is worth collecting. If you don't want to keep it, you can give it to your sons one day. After we have met Rivers, I will take you safely back to Dorne.”  
Rhaella considered his words, and gave him a small, relieved smile before frowning again.  
“What if he lies?”, she asked.  
“ If he doesn’t have it, or he has lied, it’s a fool’s quest but I have fulfilled my oath to your father. We will go straight back to Dorne then.”, Arthur said resolutely.


	5. Brynden Rivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Dayne finishes his task, but it is not what he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place many months, almost a year after Rhaella and Arthur left Dorne. The second part of the story has few timeskips and darker themes than the first part.

**The Lands Behind the Wall. Haggon. 292.**

It was said that a skinchanger was only a step away from an animal. How long a step… That was the question. The bond between a man and an animal went both ways, and Greyskin, Haggon’s wolf, had been acting strange for a few days now. It kept urging Haggon towards the Haunted Forest, and when Haggon tried to slip inside the wolf’s skin to turn it back, he felt something eerie inside the beast’s mind. Then he knew. Haggon had never been summoned by the Children before, but he knew better than anger them. He turned east, and followed the wolf.

Greyskin, Haggon’s wolf, smelled the Children long before they approached him. They looked odd, and powerful. Their skin was brown and dabbled like a deer’s, and their large golden eyes shone in the light of the stars.   
“We brought something for you.”, the first one said. A little girl, maybe eight or nine years old, was pushed forwards. The girl fell on her knees, shaking quietly. She had a numb, terrified look on her dirty face. There was blood on her fine furs, and she kept shaking. A little winged lizard, no larger than Haggon’s hand, sat on her shoulder and shivered. It was white as snow with flecks of dark red.  
“Skinchangers belong with their own kind.”, the second one said. “We already gave her what was promised. You can have this as your payment for taking her, wolf-brother.”  
It threw a greatsword on the ground next to the girl. It was a weapon unlike Haggon had ever seen. Taller than the kneeling girl, and white like stars. The girl’s face twisted, and she grabbed the sword, trying to pull it up with both hands. She got up, still gripping the sword even though the weight made her teeter and turned towards the Children. Her face was wet with tears, and the grey eyes held a look Haggon had seen many times before. The girl was craving for vengeance, even though she couldn’t even lift the swordpoint off the ground. The little lizard copied her feelings, screeching at the Children like a mad kitten.  
“No.”, Haggon said harshly, closing his hand over the girl’s shoulder and yanking her back to her knees. He caught the tiny beast, too, and stuffed it inside his woollen mitten, holding the cuff closed.  
“They killed Arthur!”, she screamed. “They killed him while his back was turned! They have no honor! I saw a terrifying dead man with roots growing inside him, and he smiled when the egg broke.”  
“What feeds fire but blood? Fire needs blood to burn and wake up the dragon.”, a Child said, watching the girl.  
“Stop speaking! I swear I will grow up and kill every last one of you for what you did to Arthur!”, the girl screamed hysterically, trying to get up from her knees again.  
Haggon put his hand over the girl’s mouth to shut her up before the Children cursed them both. But they simply turned away and left Haggon with the weeping child.

“What is your name, girl?”, he asked roughly.  
“Rhaella Sand.”, the girl hiccupped. “My father told Arthur to name me Visenya, but Ashara didn’t want to. I want to go home to Ashara. Arthur promised that after he fulfilled his oath, we would go back to Dorne and live in Starfall forever.”  
“And then he died.”, Haggon said. “Remember that, girl.”  
He knelt on the snow, taking a good grip from the girl’s jaw.  
“Here in the north, nobody will take you back where ever you came from. Your Arthur is worms’ food now, or worse. True north is a hard place, for hard people. Your fine furs, your sturdy boots, this sword or your life – they all will be taken from you if people think you are weak. So, wipe off your tears and grow some bloody balls, girl, or I will leave you here in the forest.”  
“I’m nine years old. My father was a prince.”, she said, her lower lip trembling.  
“A prince or a thief, you still will die here when wolves find you. Nobody cares what names you tell us. They have no meaning here.”, Haggon told her.  
He watched her collect herself with enormous effort of will. The girl wiped her eyes, biting her lip so hard he could see the marks from her teeth, and stood ramrod straight.  
“I won’t cry”, she said.  
“Good. I will keep you alive and teach you as long as you don’t cry, don’t complain and try your hardest to be useful. Can you promise me that, Rhaella?”  
“Yes, ser.”, she said bravely, even though she was still shaking.  
“Drop that ser, you sound like a bloody kneeler. The name is Haggon. The Children said you are a skinchanger; we keep to ourselves. People fear us, and it is a good thing. Fear keeps them off our throats.”  
He glanced appraisingly at girl, who still clung to sword. Crows would give several barrels of beer for a fine weapon like that.  
“It’s damned heavy, and I liked axes better when I was still young enough to swing one. I’ll sell the sword for Night’s Watch. The crows are only ones with enough goods to pay for a real weapon.”, Haggon said, reaching to take the sword from the girl.  
“No”, Rhaella said, clinging to it as hard as she could. Even though she was child, she wasn’t as weak as Haggon would have expected from southerner, or maybe it was desperation.  
“You can’t sell Arthur’s sword. It’s Dawn. Everyone will know it’s his.”, the girl spoke rapidly. “There is only one sword like Dawn in whole Westeros, and the Night’s Watch will think you killed the Sword of the Morning.”  
“What giant’s shit you are saying about Sword of the Morning?”  
“A knight who carries this sword is called Sword of the Morning. People tell stories about him. The Commander of Night’s Watch will come and kill you if they think you killed Arthur and took Dawn. He was the best knight in Westeros, and people loved him. Even his enemies admired him. The Usurper King himself will come and kill you if someone sees you with Arthur’s sword.”, the girl’s grey eyes bore straight into his.  
Haggon cursed.  
“We’ll hide it in the ground, then, until I find a quiet, wealthy crow. No use to get killed over a fancy kneeler weapon.”  
He looked around and saw a crying weirwood tree.   
“You see the pine next to crying weirwood? Start digging there. We’ll hide the sword under the pine. Stupid people hide their goods under weirwood, which is the first place to look from. It’s much better to use weirwood as a landmark to find the spot and dig elsewhere.”, he told the girl, nodding towards the tree.  
“Do you have a shovel?”, she asked uncertainly.  
“Do I look like a kneeler lord to you? You have hands, girl. Use them. Sticks, rocks, whatever you can find and get to work. It’s how things are done around here.”  



	6. Wed to the trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest greenseer is not happy about it.

“You can’t blame the animal for what happened to the man.”, Haggon said. His large hands moved with quiet precision, and a sparkle flew from a flint to piece of dry bark Rhaella was holding for him.  
She said nothing, but her jaw tightened.  
“It’s your choice to leave it outside, if you don’t want to wear it. Not every skin suits every man. But beasts are like men; cruel and hard to those they don’t like or know. There is beast in every man, a man in every beast, and it’s twice as true for a warg. Fools who take a skin but don’t build the animal’s trust will end up little more than beasts themselves.”, Haggon said. He took the burning bark from Rhaella, carefully pushing it between the logs set inside the firepit.  
“Dogs are easier, because they are trusting. Cats are cruel and vain, they can’t be controlled, only forced. If you wear skins of prey, like elk or deer, you might turn a coward. Wolves are hard, because one must force a lasting bond. Taking a wolf is much like taking a wife.”  
“Do you have a lady wife, Haggon?”, Rhaella asked shyly.  
Old man’s eyes crinkled with amusement.  
“A lady wife! Hah! What use I would have for a southerner lady? Would she hack the ice with an axe and haul water from the lake? Growl at Greyskin? Fight at my side? No, a true woman is as fierce as she’s strong.”  
“I’m sorry.”, Rhaella whispered, looking embarrassed.  
“Wolves and wives don’t mix well. Both are damned needy. You were right in that, at least.”, Haggon said. He poked the fire and stood up to string a dead rabbit above it.  
“Birds are tempting. I haven’t known a man who wouldn’t try to fly. But they tempt like women or drink; fly too much and your mind will forget you were a creature of earth. Someone will come and cut your throat while you’re flying in another skin. Then it’s second life for you.”  
“What is a second life?”  
“If a man dies when he’s inside a beast, something of him is left behind in the mind of the animal. A shadow of a soul. It’s as close as heaven as the southerner crows talk about. A simpler life, with nothing but a joy of hunt and a pack and snow beneath your paws. Eventually, the warg fades.”  
“Haggon.. Could there be something of Arthur remaining, still?”, she asked, her voice breaking.  
Haggon looked at the small girl who tried hard not to cry and felt pity.  
“I didn’t know your Arthur, so I can’t say if he was a warg.”, he said finally. “But if he was, and there was a beast nearby, he could have gone there.”  
He scratched Greyskin’s neck and added.  
“It’s a pity about your flying lizard. Never seen one like it before, but it’s got no fur. It will freeze to death before morning.”  
They sat quietly for some time, until Haggon noticed the girl was getting up.  
“I will go to find more wood for your fire.”, she offered too quickly, not looking him into eye.  
Haggon nodded, and gave Greyskin a small push to follow when the girl headed towards the door.

She brought some twigs back; he had to give her that. Haggon glanced at small, shivering lump inside the girl’s fur mitten, and cut a piece of the rabbit.  
“It’s your skin now. Keep it off the floor; even though Greyskin may look tame to you, it’s still a wolf, and I don’t like when animals eat each other inside the house. I’m not going to feed your lizard, or care for it. It’s your responsibility.”  
She nodded quietly.  
“I brought some wood.”, she offered shyly, and Haggon put the twigs into fire.  
“Good. Here’s your meal.” he said, holding out a piece of meat for the girl. Her eyes widened, and she looked helplessly around Haggon’s hall.  
“What’s missing?”, he asked gruffly, taking a bite out of his lump of meat. Greyskin was already devouring the bones and intestines on the floor.  
She looked at her hands, biting her lip.  
“Nothing.”, she said in a small voice and took the brown lump from Haggon, pinching it between two fingers not to touch the grease.

\--

She could not afford tears. Haggon told her so every time he caught Rhaella crying. Haggon said this was the true north, and true north ate little girls like her alive. Rhaella knew it was true. The spotted monsters inside the hill had killed Arthur and butchered him like a pig. She remembered how he had looked, hanging upside down while the monsters cut him and his blood dripped drip-drip-drip, and the image made Rhaella’s throat constrict until she couldn’t breathe properly.

The New Arthur sat on her shoulder, or hid inside her pocket, and at first, touching the dragon made Rhaella feel sick. She didn’t want New Arthur. She knew she was a bad girl for thinking so, but she didn’t care about having a dragon even though Arthur had told her dragons were the pride and joy of her House. She would have left New Arthur to die, if Haggon had not told her about wargs hiding inside animal bodies.

In the night when she tried to sleep, she could hear the trees whispering inside her head. She tasted the bitter flavour of red paste in her mouth and wept. She had not wanted to eat it, because ladies did not eat food made from other people, but the spotted creatures had forced her. Brynden Rivers had no sword; he was a liar and a murderer and a man with no honor. It was not the Iron Throne he wanted to pass to her; it was a weirwood throne he sat on, and he was a _skeleton_.  

Rhaella was afraid she was going mad. Her dreams were green and frightening. Maester Gerron had told her that King Aerys had gone mad and burned people. She didn’t want to burn anyone, except Brynden Rivers and his evil creatures because they had entirely deserved it with their bad behaviour. But New Arthur was too small, and Haggon said that burning Brynden Rivers would not help her one bit, but that kind of thinking made people fear skinchangers and kill them.  
  
Haggon asked a lot of things from her, telling that nobody would feed a useless girl. Rhaella learned to sweep his hall and carry wood and even skin a rabbit, even though she wept for first two times when Haggon gave her a knife and told her to kill the bunny. She wanted to go home, but when she looked out, all she could see was snow. There were snow and trees and Rhaella didn’t even know which way to go to get back to Dorne. They had taken a ship to Wall, and Arthur had paid the captain a whole pouch of gold but Rhaella had no money.  
  
She stood on the yard, and New Arthur flew circles around her head, and her tears froze on her cheeks when she thought of her Father the Prince who had commanded Arthur to bring her to this terrible place to search for spotted creatures. Rhaella hated her Father the Prince, hated, hated!  
  
But Haggon told her that hating dead people didn’t help, either. They were already dead, and they didn’t care.  
“Hating is useless. Go find more firewood instead, or we’ll be as dead as your kneeler prince.”, Haggon grunted, and sent Rhaella outside with a big axe.  
  
  
She put New Arthur inside her fur-lined hood and filled her pockets with slices of dried rabbit before she left outside. The snow was deep enough to reach her knees and the axe was heavy.  But Rhaella put the axe on small sled Haggon kept for carrying firewood and started walking into the forest, pulling the sled behind her.  
It was a very long walk towards the crying weirwood tree. But Rhaella could hear it whispering to her, and she pulled the sled even though the darkening evening frightened her. When the hill sloped down, she sat in the sled, holding the axe, and got past the frozen lake as fast as she were flying.

Continuing her slow walk, she walked until it got dark and she was too tired to continue. The noises coming from the forest scared her, and when New Arthur found a juniper bush, Rhaella pulled her sled inside the dense, shallow bush and hid there. The dragon crawled inside her hood again, getting stuck in her hair, but Rhaella was too tired to decide where else to put it. Besides, the quiet hissing of New Arthur in her ear helped her to fall asleep even though it was very cold.

When she woke up, the juniper bush was full of ravens. They were watching her with beady black eyes and scattered when she saw them. Only one remained, and it had an extra eye in the middle of it’s forehead.  
“Where are you going, little one?”, it croaked, and Rhaella was terrified. She was going mad, maybe she had gone mad already, but New Arthur lunged out from her hood and spat flames at the raven until it flew away. Rhaella was grateful to the dragon, even though the juniper bush caught fire from New Arthur’s fire breath and she had to crawl out very quickly before she and her sled would burn into ashes. She warmed her hands over the burning bush and shared the dried rabbit meat with New Arthur. It was tough and Rhaella didn’t like it, but the dragon ate his portion gladly. Their breakfast finished, she put New Arthur back inside her hood before continuing her journey.

Rhaella’s feet were hurting and her stomach was making a lot of unladylike noises when she finally reached the clearing where Haggon had made her hide Dawn. The sound of leaves whispering was much louder here, and the crying face of weirwood tree was looking at her.  
  
“I have an axe and I’m going cut your crying tree down. I don’t want to hear trees whispering inside my head.”, Rhaella said, trying to sound brave. Arthur had told her that her father the prince had wanted her to grow up into a fierce warrior like Queen Visenya. But being a fierce warrior had not helped Arthur against the spotted creatures. The spotted creatures had lured them into their cave with lies and killed him when his back was turned.  
“Hacking the tree down will not change what you are, little Rhaella. Only one child in a thousand is born a skinchanger, and only one skinchanger in a thousand is born a greenseer.”, the leaves whooshed.  
“I’m not a skinchanger, and I’m not what you said.”, Rhaella said in trembling voice. “Trees don’t talk. Only mad people can hear trees talking, and it means they have gone bad like King Aerys. I don’t want to be mad. I want to wake up in Sunspear where mother will tell me this was all a bad dream.”  
The red eyes of weirwood looked sad.  
“Had your real mother lived, she would have taught you not to fear trees. You are not mad.”  
“You are a liar and a murderer. I won’t believe anything you say.”, Rhaella took the axe from her sled and walked closer to the tree.  
“I did not lie, child. It was a gift I gave you, a gift no one can take away from you, and one day you will understand. I would have waited longer if I could, but I’ve already lived past my time.”, the tree whispered, but Rhaella didn’t want to listen. She raised the axe with arms shaking from effort and swung as hard as she could. But the trunk of ancient weirwood was much harder than any tree Rhaella had encountered in her experience of two days; the soft metal of axe only made a notch in the wood.  The cut she had made began to bleed red sap, and Rhaella remembered _drip-drip-drip_ sound Arthur had made. She started to cry.  
“Why did you kill him? I don’t want a dragon, I wanted only to go home. I’m scared and I want to go home. Please, please, please."  
“Oh, child. Without a Targaryen king on the throne, you have no home.”, the leaves whispered.  
“I’m not even a real Targaryen, just a bastard. Take your dragon and take your green dreams and give Arthur back. Please. I need him.”, Rhaella hiccupped.  
“Even a greenseer can’t change the past. I’m sorry. You are wedded to the trees, now.”, the tree told her.  
The sheer indignity of the tree’s claim stopped Rhaella’s tears, replacing her sadness with anger.  
“I’m not!”, she said indignantly, stomping her feet on the snow “I’m not! I would not wed you even if you were the last tree in Thedas! Girls don’t wed trees! I would not even marry a frog unless it turned into a prince!”  
She quickly picked up her axe, throwing it in the sled and said haughtily to New Arthur:  
“We will not spend more time with this stupid tree. It’s rude and much too forward.”  
Pulling the sled, Rhalla turned around and started the long walk back to Haggon’s house. But when her anger cooled, she felt small and very lonely in the big, haunted forest.

 


	7. It's what kings do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varamyr goes shopping with his beasts, and bullies a wrecked slaver ship at Hardhome into giving him a free slave. Unfortunately, it results in a religious experience which gets him killed. With a shovel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd share soundtrack for this chapter.
> 
> Keep Your Memories by Carter Burwell https://youtu.be/cIYlDFekHkY for the first part  
> and La Danse De La Lune by Ivan Torrent https://youtu.be/sh3vIyXqw_w for Viserys in the forest
> 
> There are mentions of non-consensual sex in this chapter. Also, Viserys raised by Arthur Dayne until age sixteen is far less damaged and far more likely to uphold knightly virtues (like faith) than canon Viserys. It's difficult to write a good(ish) Viserys who would still stay in character, since there is no source material for that, so this is going to OOC-realm. I think that canon Viserys would have been well read and intelligent to be able to teach Daenerys as much as he did - no library on the run -, able to be charming if he wanted to - otherwise nobody would have taken them in when they moved from city to another - and dogged to keep trying to get his throne without any resources. He reminds me quite a lot about show-Stannis in that regard, since they both set a goal and are willing to do questionable things to achieve it because they view their goal as righteous. Anyway, in ASOIAF there are no stories of pre-rebellion Viserys being a cruel boy like Joffrey who liked to kill kittens, so I decided to give him a conscience here. And lots of regrets.

**297 AC. Hardhome. Fourteen years after Robert's rebellion.  
**

There had been no slaves in Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years. The old gods and new alike held slavery to be an abomination, but the collar around Viserys Targaryen’s neck told a different story.  
_“You sold me. You sold me to Khal Drogo. You told me you would let his whole tribe fuck me, all 40 000 men and their horses too, if that’s what it took to go home.”_  
Viserys stared numbly ahead. There had been a storm, a bad one, and the cargo of the Lyseni slave ship stank of vomit. The holding cells were filled with slaves bound to Lys, but he didn’t think they were in Lys anymore. Air below deck was cold enough to make his breath steam in the air and the ship had not moved for last four days.  
Today he had heard screaming from the deck, but as long as it wasn’t him, Viserys didn’t care. His first owner had been interested in a bed slave with Valyrian look, but Viserys had failed to please. He had bitten the man’s cock, earned himself a whipping. Before he was sold again, the slave master had pulled out three of his front teeth from upper and lower jaw, ruining his speech and his smile.  
He had never thought he would end up like this. He had been born cherished. Loved. Protected. Where had it all gone?  
_“You changed after Arthur abandoned us. You twisted my hair until I cried. You hurt me on purpose. And now, when we are finally going home, you jeopardize it all.”_  
“This was the toothless kitchen slave?”, the quartermaster moved down the row of cells, holding a wicker lamp. “Open your mouth, lad.”  
Viserys kept his lips firmly pressed together.  A sailor kneed him in the balls, and Viserys’ lips drew back in involuntary grimace of pain.  
“It was this one. Get him up on the deck before that mad bear eats another expensive one! I want that beast off our ship!”

 

Viserys stumbled over the deck. His eyes were watering after time spent in the dark; he was not sure how many days it had been. Too many.  
A small, grey-faced man with round shoulders was sitting on an ice bear’s back. He was flanked by two wolves, which growled at the crew. The slave master fixed a fake smile on his face and bowed deep, trying not to shit himself. There was blood on the deck, and the wolves were eating remains of a man. Viserys looked the other way, not wanting to be sick.  
“This one is quiet and does not speak much. He has no skill in arms, but he is well suited for menial tasks in the household like cooking or cleaning. I hope you will accept this meagre gift as a small token of my gratitude.”, the man said, trembling in front of the bear.  
The small man sitting on its back peered at Viserys.  
“Where are you from?”, the wilding demanded from Viserys.  
“He’s good Valyrian stock.”, the slave master squeezed his arm. “I bought him in Qohor, but the man who sold him said he had bought the slave in Vaes Dothrak.”  
Viserys could tell that the barbarian had no idea of what the names meant.  
“I wanted a kneeler lording.”, the small man said dangerously, and the bigger wolf growled.  
“This slave is quiet, but as proud as any lord. Why, he was haughty enough that his former owner pulled his front teeth out.”, the slave master praised hastily.  
“Do you know what is Starfall?”, the small man inquired.  
Viserys blinked.  
“It’s a castle in Dorne.”, the answer slipped from Viserys’ mouth, and he quickly closed it, hating the sound of his sibilants.  
The man grinned.  
“Good. My wolves were getting full.” he said. “I’ll take this one as a gift for leaving you alone.”  
And so Viserys was sold for the third time.

The harbour they had drifted to was nothing but overgrown ruins and a hundred caves beneath a great grey cliff. Viserys shivered in his thin clothes. He had never been so cold. There was bloody snow on the ground! He had never seen snow before. But he had never had wolves nipping at his heels, either.  
The bald, small man who had bought him did not seem to care if he followed or not. But looking around, it made sense. Behind Viserys was only the slave ship and a cold sea, and around him a snow-covered coast he had never seen in his life.  
His heart almost stopped when he saw a giant white bear sauntering forwards. It knelt for the small man, even though the beast’s beady eyes blazed with hatred. Viserys gawked when he saw the man climbing on the beast’s back, oblivious to madness of his very action.  
“Get behind me. I don’t want to waste entire moon’s turn waiting you to walk.”, the man told him.

\--

 

The journey to Varamyr Fourskin’s holding took many days. There were no cities, no towns, not even villages. Just cold, empty snow and forest which never seemed to end. Viserys shivered every night, his terror of the beasts fighting against the basic need of survival.  
The Faith held that there were seven heavens and seven hells, each deeper than the last. The hells were place for sinners who did not repent. Viserys remember his septon telling that even though sins could be forgiven, crimes must still be punished.

_“You didn’t even try to love me. You always blamed me for our mother. Despite your cruelty, you taught me what was the most important. You never cared about anything else but going home. I will go home, but you are not coming with me.”_

He was not sure which hell this was, but it was one of them to be certain. The cold never ended, and the days were endless. The only thing standing between Viserys and certain death was small, bald, round-shouldered Varamyr, who was a witch. He had to be to command the beasts. It terrified him, and the worst of all, the man seemed to know it.  
“Have you ever heard of wargs, slave?”, he asked.  
Viserys shook his head numbly.  
“There are rules among skinchangers. One must not eat human flesh inside a beast. One must not mate a wolf when wearing a wolf’s skin. And taking a human skin is abomination.”, Varamyr said. He cocked his head aside. “But one does not achieve greatness by treading old paths already trodden. A great man would do what it takes, no matter the cost.”  
Viserys remembered thinking alike when he had agreed to wed his sister to Khal Drogo. Even though he thought it had been months ago, it might have been years. Everything had changed after that. Most of all himself.  
“There’s nobody you can tell.”, Varamyr said, and looked Viserys in the eye. Viserys saw the small man slumping against the tree, and his eyes rolled upward, showing the whites. Then suddenly, something was inside his head. It felt wrong, so wrong. He screamed, and tried to claw his own face, but his hands wouldn’t obey him. He heard a voice in his head, telling him to stop. But Viserys fought, even harder than when they took him at Vaes Dothrak, screaming and trashing and rolling on the ground. Finally the presence pulled away.  
“We need to practice that later on.”, Varamyr said a moment later, and Viserys curled up like a whipped dog, feeling tears of fear burn behind his eyes. He no longer feared the bear most, but it’s master.

 

On the morning of tenth day, Varamyr and his animals moved with new spring in their steps.  
“My hall is not far. We’re almost there. The wolves have smelled the dead again; it’s no good to be outside when the night falls.”  
Viserys nodded numbly. Anything not to have him inside his head again.  
It told a lot of his current state of mind that Viserys did not dare to snicker when he saw a crude hall built of hewn logs, moss and mud. He had already learned that Varamyr fancied himself a lord, who had a dozen villages paying him homage. But this was the sorriest lordly abode Viserys had ever seen.  
There was another beast sitting in front of the door, an aged grey wolf which looked at them with narrowed eyes.  
“That’s Greyskin, Haggon’s second life. It belonged to an old man who taught me to be a skinchanger. The hall used to be his, too, but now it’s mine.”, Varamyr said, pushing Viserys off the bear’s back. Viserys fell, stinging his palms against the rough frozen ground.  
Varamyr dismounted the bear, slapping it. The bear’s small black eyes were filled with hatred, but it lumbered into the woods with surprising haste.  
“Now get inside, and I’ll explain what you will do.”, the small man announced, pushing open a slanted, crude door leading into a dim hall with no windows. Viserys bent his head, and followed his new owner, wolves nipping at his heels.

 

\--

 

“This place used to be look nicer.”, Varamyr said later, when fire burned in a fireplace and he held a cup of juniper beer in his hand. “Rhaella was not much to look at, but she kept the place clean, and she knew a lot about kneelers. After Haggon took her in, we had finer things. She weaved the cloth on the wall, the one with picture of Greyskin on it. It’s a weak beast compared to mine, but she was soft like that. ”  
Viserys opened his mouth to ask what Varamyr was saying about his mother, but clamped it shut. This whole thing felt like a fever dream anyway, and he didn’t want to say anything which might have provoked Varamyr to slip inside his head again.  
The one-eyed wolf scratched at the door.  
“Let them out, slave.”, Varamyr commanded. He poured himself another cup of beer and continued: “All her talk about kneelers and lords and their stone houses... It was how I decided to become a lord. Why should I spend my days toiling uselessly? With my beasts, I can have any woman I want, and my villages give me anything I ask."  
Viserys opened the door and let the wolves out in the night. The old grey one stayed behind, tucking its snout under its tail near the doorway. Varamyr fixed his small eyes on Viserys, and said:  
“That’s why I got you. Now that she’s gone to the trees, you will serve me and tell me how to get more riches. I’m the most powerful skinchanger in north, and men fear me.”  
From a prince of the realm to a slave advisor for a mad wilding witch who could steal living bodies. Viserys drank a mouthful of water from a crude wooden cup and thought how his poor mother would have wept if she had seen him now.  
  
Varamyr drank and bragged more and more when the night passed.  
“I have the finest beasts in the north, I always said. But Haggon, that old fart, said it wasn’t so. That Rhaella’s winged lizard was finer still, because there is only one of them.”, Varamyr said, deep in his cups.  
“A winged lizard?”, Viserys asked, chills running down his spine.  
“She called it New Arthur. A great lizard with wings, spitting fire and burning trees.”, Varamyr said with dreamy look on his face. “Rhaella was a shy girl, who spent too much time weeping and wanting to go home. A fool she was. On the day Haggon died, I told her she could have had a man like me, but she screamed and wept when I coated my cock in her maiden’s blood. _You can’t touch me, my father was prince Rhaegar, I’m a maiden, please..._ ”, Varamyr mimicked.  
Something just shut down in Viserys’ head when he heard the words. A face of the fat merchant came to his mind, uninvited, only to be replaced with the image of Rhaella, who had been his mother. He remembered being a small boy and going to see his mother when he had a nightmare. He had been stopped by Kingsguard. A child he was, he had wondered about odd noises coming from behind the Queen’s closed door and became upset when he heard his mother cry. The Kingsguard sent Viserys away, and when his mother came to see him later, he remembered crystal beads falling down her nose when Viserys asked if she was hurt and wanted a hug. Or Daenerys, who had begged not to marry Khal Drogo. He had promised their mother to protect her.  
“She told me to piss off and now she’s gone to the trees.”, Varamyr finished. “Bring another jug to fill my cup, slave.”  
Viserys felt like someone else was controlling his head again, even though he knew he was all alone in his mind.  He stood up, and slowly walked to cooking area. Varamyr was saying something again, but Viserys could not hear him. He touched a pan’s shaft, but he put it back down. Too light. His fingertips brushed over a series of knives, but a stone blade would break, and bronze was too soft. He had never been much a warrior, and Khal Drogo’s men had wrestled a sword from his grip with ease. Quietly, Viserys moved past the cooking area, and his eyes found a shovel leaning against the wall. He weighed it in his hands, giving himself a quiet nod, and then turned towards the long table.  
It took four long strides to get close. The old grey wolf was watching him from the door, but it made no move. Varamyr had his back turned, drunk and secure in his own power.  
_“You can’t touch me, my father was prince Rhaegar, I’m a maiden, please..._ ”  
Viserys swung the shovel with all his strength.

 

 

Weeks spent in holding pens with little food had weakened him, and he could not walk as fast as the old wolf wanted. Viserys had never been in woods like these. The forest was dark and ancient, and the trees were nothing like slight cedars, maples and redwoods he remembered from Kingswood of his childhood. These trees were old, and wild. Their branches reached high, crossing each other in a tangle of grasping limbs and hiding what little light there was, leaving him in perpetual darkness.  
His septon had been right. If Seven Hells existed, the worst of them had to be this place inhabited by witches and animals behaving like men. But spirits, wights and revenants could not harm a pious man as long as he was armoured in his faith. Viserys did not know if he was pious or a good man, but he had killed Varamyr with a shovel.  
He was not entirely sure where he was going, led by an old grey wolf which had pissed on Varamyr’s corpse when Viserys threw it outside. Maybe this was an ambush, and Varamyr’s other beasts would soon come to eat him. Still, it was better to die here among brooding trees than on a headman’s block while Usurper smiled, or in Vaes Dothrak where his own sister didn’t raise a finger to help him. He had hurt her first, he knew, but Viserys had wanted only what had been promised to him. Here, at least, there would be no mockeries or a cheering crowd. He was so tired of being a dancing puppet.  
The path ended, opening on a small clearing. The old grey wolf growled, nipping his hand hard enough to draw blood. It was a clear command to leave the path and go forwards. He saw charred skeleton on the snow only a few strides further to the clearing. Trying to gather what dignity he had left, Viserys took a trembling step forward, and then he saw it.

A white weirwood tree with a weeping face grew in the clearing. Under the red leaves, a great beast slumbered curled around the weirwood trunk and Viserys’ lips opened, letting out a sound between a hysterical laugh and a ragged sob. “ _The Smith is the mender of broken things, putting the world of men to rights.”_ , his septon had said.  
  
The dragon was beautiful, beautiful and terrible, and Viserys felt tears rising to his eyes. If he died now and never woke up, he would not regret it. The dragon ’s scales were pure white of Kingsguard cloak, darkening to deep, rich red towards the tail. The dragon opened its red eye and looked at him. But Viserys stood his ground, mesmerized.

Only then he saw what the dragon guarded under the weirwood tree. A girl sat on the ground leaning against the weirwood’s trunk, her eyes closed as in sleep. Red leaves had fallen on her furs, and saplings grew between her fingers. The hair falling over her shoulders, almost reaching her waist was as silver as his. The soft mouth with Valyrian bow was Rhaegar’s. The straight, narrow nose reminded Viserys of his mother, and something warm and sad dwelled in his chest.

His whole body was tense with anticipation, and he could hardly breathe. This was it, this was what he had waited and wanted for all these years. He knew it deep in his bones. Either he would wake up, finding himself back in the cargo hold of the Lyseni slaver ship, or his dream would go on forever. He would spend the rest of his days in a wonderful dream where he was a good man, a king blessed by the Smith who set the world to rights. He was not a slave or a beggar; he was a Targaryen king who had gazed upon a dragon for first time in hundred year, a Targaryen king whom the gods had given a dragon and a maid of Valyrian blood. His lips moved in soundless prayer. He didn’t want to wake up.

Viserys took a step closer, anxious and shaken, but resolute under dragon’s watchful eyes. He wanted this, oh how he wanted this. He offered his bleeding, shaking hand towards the beast. The beast’s nostrils widened, and it opened the great jaws, and Viserys froze, just waiting for the pain. But the dragon quietly closed its jaws and let out a sigh. Then it unexpectedly pressed its head against Viserys’ hand, and Viserys thought his heart was going to stop.  
He pressed his face against the hot scales of the dragon, leaning against the beast while he scratched its neck, and felt tears stir behind his closed lids. All his years of running, his failure to reclaim his throne, the whole mess with Daenerys who had grown up to hate him… He was still a Targaryen, and he had found a dragon to prove it.  
  
The dragon let out a mournful screech, giving him a careful push.  
“Of course.”, Viserys remembered. The girl.  
He tried to take her hand, only to find out it was stuck on the ground. There were tiny white sprouts of weirwood growing through the soft, thin skin where her fingers connected to palm. Viserys shivered with disgust – was this what Varamyr had meant when he spoke about the girl gone into a tree?! – and closed his hand around her wrist, yanking hard.  
Her lips parted, and she cried out in pain, grey eyes opening but not seeing him, first.  
“Wake up.”, Viserys commanded. And because she was his gift from the gods, he wiped tears from her cheeks. It was only rightful to do so. Her eyes focused at him, wide and astonished.  
“I am Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm.”, he said in High Valyrian. “A wolf led me here. You were asleep, and a weirwood was growing through your hand.”  
She raised her bleeding hand to look at it and flinched.  
“My name is Rhaella Sand.”, she said in slow, uncertain Valyrian.  
She looked at Viserys, and asked in a small voice:  
“Did you come to save me at last?”  
“Of course.”, he said. “It is what kings do.”

 


	8. The bond goes both ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a true daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen, Rhaella broods, while New Arthur is lovesick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm travelling for work, which delayed this update and forces me to skip tomorrow. The next update will be on Thursday.

Rhaella’s heart was a hard lump in her chest while she watched Viserys stroking Arthur’s scales and talking to dragon with low, affectionate Valyrian. He had found them four days ago, and each day had only strengthened Rhaella’s feel of failure. Even a blind woman could have seen that the dragon was taken with Viserys in a way it had never bonded with Rhaella. For a skinchanger who could slip inside a beast’s skin, the truth was even harsher. Arthur knew her, and the dragon’s mind remembered Rhaella had raised it and cared for the beast ever since it was small enough to fit inside a mitten. They shared a skinchanger bond, but it was Viserys whose voice made Arthur’s eyes lit up.  
Rhaella knew in her heart that she had always resented new Arthur for death of her Arthur who had promised to take her home. If she could have chosen, she would never have exchanged Arthur Dayne’s life for a dragon, no matter if dragons were the pride of her father’s House. But Rhaella had no choice, and her bitterness had kept her from claiming a dragon, underlining yet again how she was not the Visenya her father the prince had wanted enough to die for. She had paid for the dragon and cared for it, and now it was obvious that she had been just a dragonseed acting as a placeholder for a true Targaryen. Viserys had done in two heartbeats what Rhaella had failed to do in five years, and it _hurt_.

“You can have him.”, she blurted, making Viserys turn.  
“Truly?”, he asked, one hand still resting against Arthur’s white scales. “Are you certain?”  
“He is yours. I could not love him, not after what Brynden Rivers did.”, Rhaella said, her throat thick with a bad memory. “And you killed Varamyr.”  
“With a shovel.”, he said, pushing hair off his face. His lilac eyes were embarrassed. “I’m not much of a fighter.”  
“It’s more than I could do, and I had a dragon.”, Rhaella said bitterly.  
“It’s not your fault, but Arthur Dayne’s, for not providing you with protection you needed. If I had known, I would have forbidden Arthur from bringing you on this mad quest. You are my niece, and it’s my duty to take care of you.”, Viserys said like it was the simplest thing in the world.  
She simply nodded, wanting to believe him. She could not tell him it was not like that here, where a girl was expected to put up a fight if she didn’t want someone like Varamyr. Rhaella didn’t want Viserys to see her as a failure. But who could fight against a man who had two wolves and an ice bear? Not Rhaella, whose dragon had been flying above Thenn valley when Varamyr had ruined her chances of ever finding a noble husband. Being a bastard was bad enough, but being a soiled bastard was worse. No matter what she had seen in the trees, vows exchanged in front of a heart tree weighed nothing when her father had already been married and neither of them had left acknowledgement of their marriage in writing. Without a valid marriage in front of witnesses and a septon, Rhaella would always be a prince’s bastard.  
“New Arthur will fight for you. He’s very valiant, and he will help you to take back your throne.”, Rhaella said firmly, focusing on a different matter. “You need to do it. As long as the Usurper sits on the throne, we can’t go home.”  
Viserys regarded her solemnly.  
“You could.”, he said unexpectedly. “Nobody knows about you. You could go back to Starfall and live your life as Ashara Dayne’s bastard. If you stay with me, you would be hunted like me and Daenerys. It’s not an easy life, and you have already done more to help me than Dorne ever did even though they signed a contract promising to support my claim.”  
“I should have left years ago when New Arthur grew big enough, but I don’t know how to get to Dorne. I feared that the Usurper would have sent his dogs to kill me while I flew around Seven Kingdoms, trying to find Starfall.”, Rhaella admitted.  
“I have spent years studying the lay of my lands for a landing of an army I was promised, but which never happened. I have every castle and a river memorized.”, Viserys said, his smile slanted with bitterness. Making a visible effort to cheer up for her, he continued more brightly:  
“I’m certain I can get you back home without drawing too much attention. We need to wait for a cloudy night, and I want to pay a visit to shipwrecked slavers at Hardhome first to set things right, but before the month turns, you’ll be on your way home.”

 

\--

 _The air was filled with smoke and blood, and she roared her victory to heavens. The remaining two-legged ones cowed in front of her, shielding their young with fear in their eyes. She watched their wooden water-ride with interest, a fire tickling at the back of her throat. She could burn that for him, if he only asked. Dracarys, he would say, the lovely timbre of his voice low and sweet in her ears._  
_A hand rested between her scales, scratching her just so, and she purred. His touch felt so good._  
_“Well done.”, he said hoarsely. He smelled a bit upset, but there was rage and fire and joy in him, too. Joy of their good work. She purred louder, turning her neck to trying to get a glimpse of him. He was hers, and he sat like a king when the two-legged ones carried treasures for their inspection._  
_“Is that Myrish silk?”, he asked._  
_The frightened two-legged ones started to prattle, and he jumped down, finally! Now she could admire him properly. He looked so handsome in his new black coat. They had made it for him with string and tiny narrow tooth, lined with soft shadowcat fur and sturdy black wool to keep him warm when they flew. There was a three-headed dragon over his heart, made from their own white scales which had fallen off. Everyone with eyes could see whom he belonged!_  
_He held up a lovely blue silk wrap with little freshwater pearls and showed it to her._  
_“Do you think Rhaella would like this?”, he asked her opinion._  
_The dragon smiled, pulling her lips back to show her wonderful, sharp teeth, and the two-legged creature holding the chest open pissed on himself._

 

Pulling out felt like she had been under water for too long. Her head felt thick and heavy.  
“Oh, bloody hell.”, Rhaella murmured, resting her head in her hands.  
She knew she should not spend so much time in Arthur’s skin. But true north was a hard place for hard people, with little respect or acceptance for people like her. Rhaella had only ever wanted to be a lady. She had wanted respect, and acceptance. In Starfall, Rhaella had learned to embroider, dance and recite two love poems in High Valyrian because they were acceptable pursuits for a noblewoman, and as a bastard, she needed to be more skilled, more graceful, more proper than any trueborn girl to find a match. The Dornish might not disapprove bastards as much as the rest of seven kingdoms, but their tolerance had limits, too. A bastard might be a paramour, but rarely a wife.  
In Dorne, she had been praised for her quiet, dutiful nature. Rhaella had never caused trouble, friending peacocks and a parrot instead of people. But the free folk did not value those features. Had she been the Visenya she was supposed to be, courageous and hard and a true warrior, Rhaella would have had much easier time.  
  
When she grew old enough to understand she would never be a fire-kissed fierce spearwife, but a southerner who needed to be taught the simplest things and only kept her place in Haggon’s household because wargs feared and respected the Children, Rhaella had fully realized the hopelessness of her position. Her parents were dead. Ashara Dayne had taken her in out of pity, or to replace a child she had lost. Even though she missed Starfall, she didn’t truly belong there. She was not a princess, and she was not a lady, having no surname except Sand. Rhaella Sand was a baseborn girl, who wasn’t even pretty according to free folk standards. Only one who had ever thought of her that way was Varamyr, who hadn’t even bothered to steal her. Rhaella was almost as angry for the lack of stealing as for her lost maidenhood. One stole a wife, but she knew Varamyr had sent his beasts to bring him women he wanted to fuck, not to marry.  

If she had been a Visenya like her father the prince had wanted, she would have killed Varamyr right there and then. Instead, she waited until he was done and ran to the trees, knowing no man of Free Folk would ever try to separate her from her tree and risk the wrath of Old Gods.  
Rhaella shook her head, biting her lip. She had no courage. She just didn’t have any. That was why  
it had felt better to be a dragon than a girl, and the bond between her and Arthur had gone too deep. When she slipped inside the dragon’s skin, she could not always tell which feelings or thoughts belonged to her and which were Arthur’s. Haggon had told her a thousand times not to go that deep. To keep herself separate from the beast. But what was one supposed to do, when the beast was everything Rhaella was not? When her dragon succeeded where she only failed?

Sometimes she thought that even New Arthur would have been a better daughter for prince Rhaegar than her.

Rhaella had only wanted to make certain everything would go well when Viserys flew to Hardhome. New Arthur was not used to seeing many people, because skinchangers lived separate from the rest of the free folk. Despite the dragon’s intelligence, it was still an animal, and animals could be unpredictable. She was worried that something would go wrong and Viserys would get hurt or die. He had refused to take her with him, because ‘she was his family and safer inside four walls’. Hearing him say that had almost brought tears to her eyes. Rhaella wanted that place, a position of a lady where nobody demanded her to keep doing things she didn’t want to do, things that were frightening and hard and far beyond her skills. Viserys was not a fighter either, but as a man, giving fire and blood to people who had insulted his honor was his duty. Rhaella knew it was no easier to be a Viserys than a Visenya, so she had thanked him for caring for her so well and slipped into Arthur’s skin as soon as Viserys left.

And now New Arthur’s crush on Viserys was leaking into her mind. Or the other way around, Rhaella sniffed, but she was not that foolish. He had saved her, and now he was picking the best of the loot for a present, but Viserys was a king while she was his bastard niece. Rhaella had no army, no influential relatives, and now she wasn’t even a maiden. Nothing would come from it. Viserys needed a daughter of a Great House, likely a daughter of a Lord Paramount to support his claim. Haggon had told her a dozen times to stop wasting her time wishing for impossible, and this time Rhaella was going to listen. She might be a ruined bastard, but she still had some self-respect left. She would not be a fool like Lyanna Stark, running away with someone else’s husband. If Ashara Dayne still lived, she would ask her mother to help her to find a landed knight, maybe a widower. A king was hopelessly out of her reach, but a landed knight might agree to wed someone like her. At least if she lied and told her husband that she had broken her maidenhead while riding a horse.

 

She felt another burst of lovesick adoration in the back of her mind. It was time to stop brooding; Arthur was very close now. Rhaella’s task was almost done; she only needed to adjust the length of trousers she was making. She would have liked to sew more things for him, but the bolt of black fabric Haggon had bartered from Night’s Watch was all used up, and there would be much finer clothes in Viserys’ future.  
“Rhaella!”, she heard him calling from the yard, and the door opened. “It went well. We have plenty of money now and the slavers are dead. Arthur didn’t torch the ship; when I left, the slaves were planning to try to repair it and sail back to Essos. He did well!”  
She put her needle down and smiled. It was sweet to see him so happy.  
“It’s a she.  New Arthur is a girl.”, she corrected. “Gender is a fluid thing with dragons, but she thinks herself as a female.”  
“Yet you named her New Arthur?”, Viserys asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow. “Compared to Sunfyre or Balerion, New Arthur is a peculiar name for historians and songwriters when they start penning the history of the second Targaryen dynasty.”  
“I was eight years at the time!”, Rhaella defended herself.  
“I will just call her Arthur.”, Viserys said. He sat on the edge of the table in front of her and opened his coat.  
“This is for you.”, he said, starting to unwrap the sky-blue fabric around his neck. “Most of the jewels and money need to go to sellswords, but this reminded me of you. The silk is Myrish, and the Lyseni make lace finer than a spider’s web. The pearls are real, too.”  
The blue silk was light as snow and the pearls shone in the candlelight when he arranged it around her shoulders. She breathed the scent of smoke, dragon and him, and hoped it would never vanish.  
“Thank you. This is a lovely gift.”  
“You look very beautiful.”, Viserys offered. “My mother had a large shawl like this. I remember it well.”  
He stood up and added:  
“In a few days, you can wear it in Starfall. It looks like a cloudy night; we should leave as soon as it gets dark and pass over the Wall. If there isn’t much to pack.”  
She shook her head, feeling the softness of fabric with her fingers. Silk felt very foreign after years of fur and scraps of coarse wool.  
“Only Dawn. We should dig it up and take it back to Starfall.”

 


	9. A lady wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Arthur's jealousy and fear have unexpected consequences, and Rhaella gets married.

_Standing in a throne room, she looked up at the dais, and saw a heart tree growing behind the Iron Throne. The white trunk shone in the dim light coming through the windows of painted glass, and the leaves fallen on the empty seat were blood red.  
“You can’t run from what you are. The temptation of power, the need to see is always there. I know it well.”, the tree whispered._

 

Rhaella woke up with a gasp, the dream fleeing from her. It was bright day outside, yet Viserys and Arthur slept on the floor of old, abandoned watchtower cowered by moss and ivy.  
“Is something wrong?”, Viserys’ voice asked, thick with sleep. He was rubbing his lilac eyes, looking at her.  
“Just a bad dream.”, Rhaella replied, unable to ward off the chill setting in her bones. She shivered.  
Viserys regarded her with sleepy eyes, and then crouched his fingers.  
“Come here.”, he said, and patted the floor next to him. “Daenerys had bad dreams all the time when she was small, and she often slipped in my bed, wanting stories.”  
“It sounds wonderful.”, Rhaella said wistfully. She settled against his side, carefully laying her head on his chest.  
“The trick is to bore the lady into sleep.”, Viserys said. “I could tell you a story of Sunfyre, the most beautiful dragon ever seen upon the earth.”  
Arthur opened one red eye.  
“Perhaps not.”, Rhaella said. “Arthur might fly off to search for him. She is in love with you, and terribly jealous.”  
Viserys chuckled, an amused yet slightly bitter sound.  
“She might be the first lady ever to do that, then. I promise you that even my bride is not as beloved as you.”, he reached to stroke Arthur’s scales.  
“I didn’t know you had a lady queen.”, Rhaella said, suddenly upset. Damn Arthur!

Viserys felt her stiffen, even though her expression didn’t change. But he had already learned Rhaella guarded her thoughts carefully, giving away nothing.  
“I was promised to Arianne Martell when I was ten years old. Ser Willem Darry signed a contract with Oberyn Martell. I…”, no words felt right in his mouth. “I don’t know at all what she is like.”  
“She must be very beautiful.”, Rhaella offered.  
Viserys scowled.  
“Rhaella, every maiden of a noble house is called beautiful even if she looked like a pig. Cersei Lannister is beautiful, but her father is a traitor and her brother the Kingslayer. Is that truly all you know about Arianne Martell?”  
“My aunt Allyria Dayne spent time in Water Gardens. She was two years older than Arianne, but the princess was closest with her cousins the Sand Snakes. I remember only some rumours.”, Rhaella said reluctantly.  
“I would still like to hear those rumours from someone who I trust to tell me the truth”, Viserys said pointedly.  
“It was said that princess Arianne was very free with her affections, and she took Daemon Sand, the bastard of Godsgrace as her lover when they were fourteen. Some people said that he even asked her hand from prince Dorian but was denied. My mother was not pleased about that, because Prince Oberyn had suggested Daemon Sand as my match, and she thought that marrying a princess’ paramour would cause a …challenging marriage.”, Rhaella chose her words carefully.  
“Indeed.”, Viserys felt a spark of rage. “I know Dornish feel differently about many things, but I would have thought my bride wiser than this. Knowing the legitimacy of the royal line rests on her shoulders, a queen must be above reproach. Nobody wants to wed a woman who has already taken lovers.”  
He saw a quick shift in her expression, an ashamed look which quickly turned into her polite mask and felt like a fool. Viserys knew that when he was angry, he always said the wrong things. It had alienated Daenerys and gotten him enslaved. Trying to salvage his mistake but not quite able to apologize his slight, he tried clumsily:  
“I am not thrilled to marry outside our family, but the circumstances dictated the match. At very least, I expected her to use her good judgement, but it appears she doesn’t have any if even Dornish children – how old were you, seven or eight? – are aware of her paramours. If she absolutely had to profess her affection to someone, there are ways to please a man and remain a maiden.”  
Rhaella blushed bright red.  
“I wouldn’t know of that.”, she stammered, embarrassed by the sudden change of topic.  
“I would have been surprised if you did.”, Viserys replied.  
He thought she looked lovely, all flushed and too shy to meet his eyes. If Rhaegar had not lost, Viserys thought, the familiar path of bitterness suddenly taking a new turn. If he had not lost, Viserys would have been a king’s brother, safely removed from line of succession by Aegon, and Rhaella would have been acknowledged natural daughter of the king. With Daenerys and Rhaenys, perhaps she would not have been needed for an alliance. Viserys knew he would have loved her, he would have loved her more than Rhaegar ever loved his northern girl.  
“You don’t need to worry. Any man you might marry will surely love you.”, he said.

 

  **\--Riverlands, a week later –**

“I swear I saw a dragon, father! A white dragon with a bleeding man on it’s back!”  
“A dragon.”, Raymun Darry shook his head. “Are you sure, Lyman? If you dragged me and our men here in the middle of the night for a boy’s foolishness, I swear I will--”  
Ser Raymun was standing on the riverbank with his son and their men, when he glimpsed something white in the moonlight. It was a length of silver floating on the Green Fork, and a face appeared, only to vanish again under the surface.  
“Help!”, a breathless voice begged, and a hand stretched out towards them.  
The Green Fork was not a peaceful river, and there was no crossing it north to the ruby ford until the Twins. The locals knew better than trying to swim there.  
“A rope, Tylar!”, Ser Raymun commanded. Quickly, his squire tied a rope around his waist, handing the end to Ser Raymun before he jumped in the water. He, Dallen and little Lyman took a hold on the rope, digging their feet on the ground. It would take more than one man to pull out what Green Fork wanted to claim.  
“Hang on tight!”, Tylar shouted, and Ser Raymun saw a head of silver pop on the surface for second time. Raymun had seen enough people claimed by the river to know the third time would be the last. But Tylar was a strong swimmer, born and bred in the Riverlands, and the current was on his side.  
“I’ve got her. Pull, my lord!”, he shouted.  
  
Dallen was old and thin man, and Lyman was just a boy. Ser Raymun’s muscles burned fiercely, but when he saw a glimpse of what Tylar was holding, he knew he could not let go. She was a maiden, lovely as the moonlight, coughing water from her lungs and holding on Tylar’s shoulders for dear life. And she had the silver hair of true kings. Ser Raymun pulled with all his might, thinking about three brothers who had died at the Trident with the prince. It had to be magic. If he failed now, the river would take back the gift he had glimpsed, and the House Darry would never reclaim what they had lost when the Usurper won. He had a son, and he could not fail.  
So, he pulled, and cursed the burn, but kept pulling. Finally, he yanked the rope so hard that Lyman fell on his ass, but Tylar was almost on the riverbank.  
“My lord!”, Tylar thrusted the girl towards him, and Ser Raymun caught her arm, pulling her up on the riverbank.

She wore wet, thick furs and she was coughing water out of her lungs violently.  
“My lady...”, Ser Raymun began, feeling his heart beat faster. “I am Ser Raymun Darry, of House Darry. My men saved you from the river. Who are you?”  
Her face reminded him of Good Queen Alysanne, whose likeness was on the tapestry Raymun kept in his solar. Her lips had the Valyrian bow, but her eyes were soft grey.  
“My lord.”, she replied weakly. “My name is Rhaella Sand, and I beg your hospitality for a night.”  
Raymun had a thousand questions to ask, but even though he trusted his men, he knew these were questions with potentially dangerous answers. He unfastened a cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around the shivering maiden.  
“I will take to my castle, where my maester can tend you.”, he said. “We can talk more later.”

\--

 

The bed given to her was built with real nails.  Rhaella touched the head of the nail, wanting to know it was there. Somehow, the abundance of iron made it all more real than the soft mattress or the lovely tapestries on the wall. The likeness of her grandfather the king, from his days of youth and sanity, studied her from opposite wall. She wondered if they had all seventeen Targaryen kings here? She remembered seeing Aegon the Unlikely when she was carried up the stairs. Maybe Viserys had been right about river lords still being faithful.

Oh, Viserys. Her heart twisted in a painful knot. She had spent the night inside Arthur’s skin, fighting the dragon’s fear and fury and trying to find a safe place for Viserys from the mountains of east. Trying to stay hidden had become much more difficult after they had left the North. There, forests and the thin layer of snow had offered many places to hide, but Riverlands had too many people. A small group of Frey men had found them when they slept. Arthur had killed them, but not quickly enough; Viserys had been hurt. When they escaped the burning forest, Arthur had been frantic with fear and fury, fighting Rhaella’s attempts to control her. When Rhaella pulled the arrow out from Viserys’ leg, making him cry out, Arthur had lashed out at her, swinging her great tail and dropped Rhaella into river. He had tried to come for her, but Arthur would not listen. Stupid, stubborn beast!  Now Viserys was somewhere in the Mountains of the Moon, alone and injured and Rhaella didn’t know how to find him.

“M’lady!”, a woman knocked on the door.  
“Come in.”, Rhaella called, pushing herself to sit on the bed.  
A woman maybe ten years old than her, swollen with a babe, entered the room carrying a tray. It smelled like heaven. Porridge, and bread. Rhaella saw a pot of honey on the tray, and her eyes grew wet. The last time she had anything sweet was on the morn when Arthur had stolen her from her mother and taken to north.  
“I’m Rosie, and m’lord told me to bring you breakfast.”, the woman said, laying the tray on the table. “Why, is something wrong? Do your bruises still pain you, m’lady?”  
Rhaella wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her borrowed nightshirt and gave the maid a trembling smile.  
“Nothing a good meal wouldn’t cure.”

 

She slept most of the day, slipping inside dragon’s skin to watch over Viserys. A maester came to see her, stating that her humours were imbalanced, and she was sick. Rhaella didn’t remember the rest of his explanation, because Arthur became alarmed over something, and she had to slip away to stop the dragon before she burned people Viserys was trying to approach. They looked much like wildings, except they were kneeling and calling him a fire witch. It was baffling, and Rhaella didn’t know what to do.

  
It took almost three days before she forced herself to leave Arthur. By then, Viserys had been taken to a wooden hall which reminded her quite a lot of Haggon’s house, and he was treated very well. The clansmen respected Arthur immensely, and the healing wound on Viserys’ leg did not smell sick, soothing her worry.  
But he was there, and she was here, with no way to find him. She could not expect him to come back to her, Rhaella thought. It was too dangerous. The Usurper would hear and kill him, and Tullys were no better, siding with Robert Baratheon. She was on her own, with no possessions. She might have crossed the Wall, but Starfall remained as elusive as ever. Travelling there would cost money, and safety demanded soldiers she did not have. Darry’s servants had been very kind, but Rhaella could not abuse on his hospitality forever.  
Her eyes found the tapestry of Aerys the Second on the opposite wall. She might not have money, but she had something to barter.

“Could you find me something to wear, Rosie? I feel much better today, and I would like to get up.”, she asked when the maid came to bring her breakfast.  
“Of course.”, the woman sprung in the action, opening the carved doors of a wardrobe. “Poor lady Betha, Seven bless her soul, was bigger than you, m’lady, but I think her fine red silk might fit if I borrow a belt from the black velvet.”  
A silk gown. Rhaella remembered the soft coolness of lady Ashara’s gowns when she had been a small girl in safety of her mother’s arms, and she quickly swallowed, focusing on her porridge before she started weeping again.

Her morning was spent in grooming rituals familiar yet odd. There were many things which once had been familiar, and then lost for years. Late lady Betha had been less interested in matters of beauty than lady Ashara, but she had a lovely hairbrush made from boar’s bristles and one silk gown, the red one, which felt like a cloud against Rhaella’s bare skin. Rosie washed her hair and brushed it a hundred times while Rhaella sat on a soft padded stool.

When she looked her reflection from a small Myrish glass on the wall, Rhaella was stricken. Five years had changed so much. The woman looking back from the mirror, the woman dressed in a red silk gown with her silver hair braided like a crown was a lady. Suddenly, Rhaella wanted that desperately. She wanted to stay here, in this beautiful room with a maid attending her, with a closet full of soft wool and velvet and silk, to look herself from a Myrish glass and having someone else brush her hair. She didn’t want to go back to outside where uncertain fate waited.  
The morning light shone through a glass window, giving her grey eyes a lavender shift. Her foolish heart wanted Viserys, but he was not like her father, who had lost their throne for a woman. Viserys would marry Arianne Martell for Dornish spearmen and win back the Iron Throne.  
She looked her reflection in the mirror and made up her mind.  
“Rosie, could you please tell Ser Raymun that I’m up and ask him to come see me here.”, she told Rosie.

When the door closed, Rhaella quickly pinched her cheeks to give herself a rosy glow. She smiled at her reflection three times, testing different expressions, and then tucked her gown a bit lower. Not too much – she wasn’t a _whore_ -, but enough to give a discreet glimpse on what Varamyr had praised as her best feature. Even though Ser Raymun was not a wilding, men were men and Rhaella was not a fool.  
She sat in the armchair below the tapestry of her grandfather the king and arranged the hems of her gown to pool gracefully around her ankles. Ser Raymun’s late wife had been taller than her, but it was better this way. Rhaella could always take up hems on the dresses but adding length to a gown looked shoddy.

  
She did not need to wait for long. Her memories from the river were not the clearest, but she remembered the man who knocked on the door of her borrowed chamber. Ser Raymun was in his late twenties, a plain knight with light brown hair and blue eyes. He looked sturdy. Good. Bedding would be easier if he didn’t look like small, scrawny Varamyr.  
“Lord Raymun.”, Rhaella stood up, and curtsied. It felt odd after years of not doing it, but the lessons every highborn girl was taught were still there in her bones. She remembered he had named himself a ser, not a lord, but the dragon tapestries and Ser Raymun’s own servants still calling him a lord hinted on what had happened to House Darry after the Usurper took power.  
“I wanted to thank you for coming to my rescue.”, she began. “Without you, I would have died.”  
He nodded, his eyes looking at King Aerys II above her, and then back to Rhaella’s face.  
“If I may ask, my lady, what happened?”, he asked.  
“I don’t want to endanger you or your family. You have given up much, yet been nothing but faithful.”, she said uncertainly. It was true. There were things Rhaella wanted, but the man in front of her had done nothing to her but treated her with kindness. She didn’t want the Usurper to send his dogs here.  
“My lady, you have seen my castle. I think it’s clear where our loyalties lie.”, Ser Raymun said.  
She smiled, and took his hand. He was surprised by sudden gesture, but didn’t pull back.  
“Lord Raymun, I am Rhaella Sand, daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen by Lyanna Stark. I was travelling with the King, but I fell and you found me.”  
“The King?”, bright red spots flared on Ser Raymun’s cheeks.  
“King Viserys, Third of His Name.”, Rhaella confirmed. “We found a dragon from north. He had to leave to find the army his sister has been gathering in the east.”  
“A prince’s daughter.”, ser Raymun stated fiercely. “Your Grace, my house—”  
“Hush.”, Rhaella pressed her finger softly against his lips. “Your house has suffered much. The Usurper still rules. I would not have you or yours suffer if the news reach wrong ears too soon. The King will return in time, but the time is not yet. There is another boon I would ask from you.”  
She drew a breath, looking at Ser Raymun’s face and desperately hoping he was a kind man, that she was not making a terrible mistake.  
“I was raised by Ashara Dayne. Her brother Arthur took me behind the Wall to search for a dragon when I was only eight years old. After Ser Arthur died, my life wasn’t... kind. King Viserys found me and killed a man who had dishonoured me, but the King had to leave and now I have no protector. I have nothing, and nowhere to go. Your House has lost more than any others because you stayed loyal to my father’s House in our darkest hour, and I would repay that loyalty with my own small way. I would offer myself as your wife, and bear children for your House for those you have lost in service of Targaryens.”  
“My lady…”, ser Raymun stumbled over his words.  
Rhaella was panicking, wanting to apologize for being so forward, but she strictly reminded herself that dragons did not apologize. Ser Raymun would never marry her if she was just a bastard he had pulled out from a river, but surely a knight who still kept a tapestry of Aerys II on his wall would not decline a chance to marry a king’s granddaughter?  
“My lady… House Darry is truly honoured, and gladly accepts.”, he said, closing her hand between his, and Rhaella gave him a small, true smile of relief.

 

A week after he saved a girl from the river, Ser Raymun Darry, a widower lord of disgraced house in Riverlands, married Rhaella Sand in Castle Darry’s sept.


	10. Red his banners bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a proud, fateful day for House Targaryen.

“Careful! It’s a priceless tapestry, not a sack of grain!”, Rhaella snapped at Tylar, who was hanging good queen Alysanne to dry.  
Rosie, who was a mother of two, had told Rhaella that cleaning often started a late birth. Rhaella, who was sick of her swollen, aching feet and too big stomach, had ordered the servants to take down every tapestry in Ploughman’s Keep and take them to Green Fork. If washing all her ancestors would not persuade this baby to get out, nothing would.   
She poured a bucketful of water over King Viserys the First’s plump, pleasant face. The bushy, silver-gold moustache did not suit him, Rhaella decided, and started to scrub the tapestry with soap. When the king was frothing properly, Rhaella stood up with a grimace and waddled to riverbank, kneeling in the mud to rinse the tapestry. The fabric grew heavy when it was wet, and she staggered trying to lift it up. Swiftly, her husband’s squire Tylar took the tapestry from her and begged:  
“Please leave this to servants, my lady.”  
“Nonsense.”, Rhaella said, hissing when she felt her stomach harden. “It’s finally working. Go get princess Rhaenyra from the cart.”

Her waters broke when she was rinsing Maekar the First, and Tylar, who had turned more and more nervous with each king, sent Lyman to get Ser Raymun. Rhaella huffed, and continued scrubbing. She had three kings left, and she would not give birth in a keep only half cleaned. Her pains grew sharper, and she felt an inquisitive push in the back of her mind.  
“Not now, you bloody dragon.”, she muttered, soaping Aegon the Unlikely.

After she wed ser Raymun, Rhaella had not slipped inside Arthur’s skin even once. She was determined not to be a false wife, and a thought of spending her nights sleeping next to one man while dreaming of another sat ill with her. But in last few months when she grew heavy with a child, Arthur had started reaching towards her. Rhaella would not reach back, because Arthur meant Viserys and she would not disrespect a husband who had been nothing but kind to her. Therefore, she could not tell why Arthur did this, but the presence in the back of her mind felt more like curiosity than anything else.

She had finished Jaehaerys II, and gripped the handle of a bucket, waiting for pain to pass when she felt a horse approach and Tylar’s face lit up with relief.  
“Ser Raymun!”, he called.  
Rhaella grimaced, and upended a bucket of water over Aerys II. What Tylar expected her husband to do? Throw her over his shoulder and carry back home? A foolish boy. He was two years older than Rhaella, but she was the lady of the house, while Tylar was a squire still.  
“Lyman came to tell I was needed.”, Ser Raymun came to stand next her.  
Rhaella breathed in shallow breaths, waiting for pain to subside, and said:  
“You could take me back to castle after I finish this. It’s the last one, and the baby will wait until I’m done cleaning.”  
“Very well.”, ser Raymun said carefully. “I know better than second-guess a lady in these matters.”  
Rhaella was very grateful for her husband’s first wife, lady Betha Blackwood, who had raised a fine son and taught ser Raymun to pick his battles. This was not one of them.  
Arthur was poking in the back of her mind again, and the soap slipped from Rhaella’s hand when she curled over her stomach. It was getting bad now.  
“I think it’s clean enough.”, Ser Raymun said, taking the frothing tapestry and handing it to Tylar. “Tylar, go rinse it.”  
“Properly. And make sure it’s not wrinkled when you put it to dry.”, Rhaella hissed between her teeth.   
“You heard the lady, Tylar.”, Ser Raymun said calmly. He watched her hobble a few steps towards his horse, and then stopped Rhaella with a firm grip on her arm.  
“We have a cart here, Rhaella. You have a fight ahead, and there is no reason to tire yourself out before it has truly started. Riding on a horseback can’t be comfortable when you are like that.”  
“I just wanted to finish my task.”, she said, swallowing tears.  
“You did.”, Ser Raymun assured, and lifted her in the cart. He climbed in the back with her and told Dallen to drive.   
“I’m afraid.”, Rhaella whispered, pressing her face against his brown coat when the pain burned in her belly even harder.  
“You survived years and years alone in the north.”, her husband said, stroking her hair. “You will survive this, too.”  
“I want Rosie with me. And you should be somewhere near, if things go wrong.”, she demanded, stricken by sudden fear. Lyanna Stark had died, and Rhaella had no way knowing if she was doing well or not. How much this was supposed to hurt and still be safe?  
“Only fools like the Usurper go hunting when their lady wife’s time comes.”, Ser Raymun’s disdain was clear. He softened his voice, putting his arm around her and Rhaella sniffed, trying not to cry.  
“I’ll be in the castle sept, praying to Mother for you and the baby.”, he promised.

 

It felt like it went on forever even though Maester Karyl and Rosie claimed things were progressing fast. Rhaella didn’t believe them. She clung stubbornly to a rope Rosie had hung from the ceiling, panting and cursing. And when the pain sharpened into a constant burn and Rosie told her to push, Arthur reached for her again and Rhaella had no will to resist.

She looked blankly ahead, not seeing Rosie or Maester Karyl, but she saw Viserys standing in front of her. Viserys held three eggs in his arms and looked at her like he had seen a miracle. He reached towards her and stroked her scales.  
“When they write the history of my reign, it will be said that you saved my House.”, he said, and one of the eggs cracked so sharply that it hurt, and she cried out.

Rhaella looked down and saw something bloody sliding out between her legs. Rosie caught it, giving a firm slap, and a thin, angry cry filled the room.  
"Well done, m’lady! A fine, strong son!”, she praised, and Rhaella slumped against the rope, too exhausted to say a word.

 --

Her husband was celebrating the birth of his son downstairs. Rhaella could hear Ser Raymun singing. She rolled her eyes fondly and settled against her pillows to listen.

  _And there he stood with sword in hand,_  
 _the last of Darry's ten..._  
  
_And red the grass beneath his feet,_  
 _and red his banners bright,_  
 _and red the glow of the setting sun_  
 _that bathed him in its light,_  
  
_"Come on, come on," the great lord called,_  
 _"my sword is hungry still."_  
 _And with a cry of savage rage,_  
 _They swarmed across the rill.._

Personally, Rhaella was not convinced at all that lord Deremond, the hero of the song, had been a lord of Darry like Ser Raymun claimed. The banners of House Darry were brown, not red and they were certainly not bright.   
“Maybe your banners will be, once Viserys sits on the Iron Throne.”, she whispered to her baby.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In tomorrow's chapter, Robert Baratheon visits Darry. *evil vampire smiley*


	11. Whiskers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Arryn is dead, and King Robert is on his way to Winterfell. Rhaella hosts her father's murderer in her home and avenges the death of her grandfather to distract Robert Baratheon from thinking too much about the color of her hair.

“I don’t want to welcome Usurper and his court to Darry.”, her husband grunted.  “Couldn’t they find anywhere else to stay if they have to travel to north?”  
“You must stop calling him the Usurper, so you would not slip it by an accident while someone hears.”, Rhaella reminded him gently. “They might have chosen Darry to evaluate your loyalty.”  
“Robert Baratheon will never be anything else to me but the Usurper, who took half of our lands, my title and all our money except what my lady mother managed to hide.”, Ser Raymun huffed.  
His face softened when he looked at Rhaella, and the babe sleeping in the crook of her arm.  
“But I will mind my tongue for your sake, my lady. I would never put you or my sons in danger. Robert Baratheon or his Lannister relatives will receive nothing but courtesies from me.”  
“Thank you.”, Rhaella said softly, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “I will stay out of their sight as much as I can.”  
“Good. Still, I would not have asked you to host your father’s murderer under our own roof.”   
“They won’t stay long, and I have hidden the tapestries. It’s drier here than in the cellars, and I don’t think Lannisters will come to peek under my bed.”, Rhaella smiled. Then she remembered her sister Rhaenys, who had hidden from Lannister men under her bed in Red Keep, and her smile vanished.  
“Father! I saw the horses coming along Kingsroad!”, Lyman’s excited voice shouted behind the door.  
Rhaella fixed a stray hair back to her neatly braided hair and took a better hold on baby Deremond. She looked at her reflection on a Myrish glass on the wall and corrected her posture, hardening her heart. She was a lady and smiling at her father’s murderer could not be harder than lying to Varamyr that she liked him. Survival demanded doing what was necessary, and Rhaella would smile until her teeth fell off if the alternative was giving away her hard-won victory. She was no longer a Sand; her husband had given her his honourable name and her son was a trueborn, healthy baby. Rhaella Darry was the lady of her own castle and she had needles, pots, knives, servants, everything she had missed or gone without behind the Wall. Her husband was a valiant, kind knight, who had wedded her even though she had confessed she wasn’t a maiden. Her household was in order and her children were well mannered and happy. Rhaella had all she had ever wanted, and she would not let Robert Baratheon take it away.

There were two pairs of riders carrying the Baratheon and the Lannister banners leading the column, and then Rhaella saw the king riding his fine black steed. Admiring the animal, she reached to brush her mind against the king’s horse. It was a well-trained horse, taught to follow orders. It would be easy to take it. She almost slipped inside, when the baby made a small noise, and Rhaella shivered. No. She could not risk King Robert falling fatally from his horse in the middle of her own yard. It would be terribly suspicious. Someone would search the castle and find the tapestries. King’s death, no matter how welcome, would only lead to trouble. There were dozens of soldiers, and one of them sported a dog head helmet. The madman’s brother; likely as mad as the Mountain. Rhaella pulled back, taking six-year-old Lyman’s hand and fixing polite expression on her face.

She kept an eye on Raymun when he bent the knee, knowing how much it stung. He had lost so much serving her father; three brothers and half of their land, a title of lord and almost all their power. House Darry was just a shadow of what it had been under Targaryen rule. She felt bad about it. Knowing her presence only endangered them further, Rhaella had sworn to herself on her wedding day that she would do her best to be a good wife to Ser Raymun, the best wife there could be.  
She glanced at baby Deremond, and a smile curved the corners of her mouth upwards. Of all her accomplishments, Rhaella was proudest of this. She had given her lord a healthy baby only a year into marriage, and Deremond was growing well. She had plenty of milk, and in year or two, when she stopped nursing, she would carry another, filling her lord’s house with strong, able children worthy of his name to make up for everyone Darry had lost fighting for Targaryens.    
  
A hand in a black glove gave a mark to stand up, and Rhaella found herself face to face with her father’s murderer.  
  
Robert Baratheon was not what she had expected. In her childhood, she had imagined him many times. She had looked at the waters of Torentine, the river flowing around the island Starfall was built on and wondered what prince Rhaegar had looked like when he fell in the river and the water turned red with rubies and blood. In Rhaella’s childish mind, Robert Baratheon, the Usurper King, had been a huge, frightening man with black hair and evil features. But the man looking at Rhaella was not the terrifying warrior she had feared for her whole life. Robert Baratheon was bored, fat old man with jowls under his chin and shrewd blue eyes.  
“Welcome to Darry, Your Grace. My keep is yours.”, Ser Raymun said stiffly. “This is my wife Rhaella, and my sons, Lyman and Deremond.”  
“What a pretty face.”, the king said slowly. “But where does that blasted dragonspawn hair come from?”  
“Light hair runs in the family on my mother’s side, Your Grace. They are stony Dornishmen.”, Rhaella said, sensing danger. She kept a cheerful smile on her face, speaking with soft Dornish drawl. Thank the Seven Deremond was still bald.  
The king narrowed his eyes.  
“Your mother should have known better than give you a traitor name.”, he said.  
“My mother, lady Ashara Dayne, served as a lady-in-waiting in King’s Landing for many years, Your Grace.”, Rhaella said, keeping the smile glued to her face while the king stared at her, searching for something.  
“You’re Ashara Dayne’s bastard?”, the king repeated, and then he started to laugh loudly.  
The atmosphere in the yard relaxed instantly.  
“I can’t wait to see that old bugger’s face when I tell him that his bastard with Ashara Dayne is a lady in Riverlands, now. He always tried to deny it, but those are Ned’s eyes on your face, and you scowl just like your father!”, the king guffawed.  
Even though Rhaella did not particularly enjoy being a laughingstock, it was better than being dead.  
“It’s a pity she flung herself down from that tower. She was truly a beauty. I guess it was the grief over her brother’s death which killed her, and not a stolen child, like Varys claimed.”, Robert Baratheon said gruffly.  
Rhaella felt like someone had punched her in stomach. Her mother was dead? The Usurper was offering condolences for her mother’s death?  
She held on the bland smile even though she feared her teeth might crack. Ser Raymun quietly slipped an arm around her waist, and the rest of introductions went smoothly.

 

The welcoming feast was still going on, when Rhaella excused herself to give suck to the baby. Cersei Lannister had barely lowered herself to speak to her, the Kingslayer looked permanently bored, and Rhaella had heard from the steward that Lord Tyrion had been caught “looking around” in the cellars. The servant who had sold him the key would be dismissed as soon as the guests left. She had seen lord Tyrion looking at the walls where darker spots marked the places where tapestries normally hung. The dwarf or any guest had no business wandering around her castle, and Rhaella hid a wry smile when she thought about Targaryen tapestries neatly folded under her bed. Lord Tyrion might be clever, but Rhaella knew to keep her priced possessions where she could personally guard them. One could have only what one could keep.  
King Robert had leered in his cups at one of the servant girls, whom Rhaella instantly put to work in a kitchen. The girl would need to sleep in the kitchen with the cook until the king left. One royal bastard was enough for Rhaella’s household.

The lord’s chamber was given over to the king. It was the best room in the house with a Myrish carpet and a bed large enough to sleep six. Rhaella had personally washed the brown velvet draperies and wiped the oakwood posts carved with vines and leaves until there was no trace of dust. The window overlooked the godswood.  
The room was on the top level of the Ploughman’s Keep, and it was connected to lady’s bedchamber with a servant’s cell between. When Rhaella had taken over the household, she had changed the servant’s cell into a storage room for linen. But today the small room would house two Kingsguards, Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. Jaime Lannister had looked down his nose at Rhaella and announced that even a bastard should know that a lord of the Rock would not sleep in linen closet. She had smiled politely and shuffled him to share with Lord Tyrion.

The baby let go of her nipple, turning his head aside. Deremond’s eyes were closed in sleep, and Rhaella wiped a drop of milk from the corner of her son’s mouth. This was her home now, she thought. The Usurper had once again changed her life in permanent manner. There was nobody waiting for her in Starfall. The thought made her hollow, but the tears did not come. She did not dare to cry, not when she was hosting the very people who had slayed her father’s family. If any of them knew, if any of them even suspected, they would tear her son from her arms and crush his little head just like they had killed her half-brother Aegon.

A grey and brown mouser, Whiskers, brushed against Rhaella’s leg when she stood up to put baby Deremond in the cradle. Cats were cruel and vain, Haggon had taught her, but a necessity in Riverlands where rats and mice were much more common than in true north.  
“If I see you anywhere near my son’s cradle, you will regret the day you were born.”, Rhaella murmured. She looked the cat in the eye, picking it up to put in outside the room, but then a thought occurred to her. The Usurper’s remark about her ‘blasted Targaryen hair’ still bothered her. It was dangerous, and who knew how long Robert’s amusement over Ned Stark’s supposed bastard would last?  
Taking the cat, she opened the door to servant’s cell, glancing at cots already put there for the Kingsguard, and quickly entered the room reserved for the royal couple. Rhaella knelt next to bed and pushed Whiskers under it.  
“Stay.”, she forced the command with a hard look, slipping inside the cat’s skin. It struggled against Rhaella’s presence but bowed relatively fast. Whiskers was a young animal and a domesticated one. Struggles it could offer were nothing compared to a shadow cat or Varamyr’s ice bear. Everyone knew cats were independent creatures which went wherever they willed. If Queen Cersei found a cat from her room, nobody would suspect a foul play, but Whiskers’ sharp ears would relay Rhaella any pillow talk King Robert was going to have with his Queen. Standing up, Rhaella pulled the chamber’s door shut and hurried back to her own room to change into a nightgown.

 

 _The heavy smell of wine stank in the air and made her whiskers tickle. The bed above her creaked, and a woman let out a frustrated sigh._  
_“Robert?”, a woman asked. “Robert?”, she replied louder, but there was no reply._  
_“You bloody drunk.”, her next words dripped disgust, and the cat’s ears caught a small soft sound when bare feet stepped on the soft carpet next to bed. She heard a clink of a glass bottle, and a cloud of expensive perfume momentarily hid the sordid smell of a sleeping man. His heavy breaths remained unchanged, when the cat watched the woman’s feet moving towards the main door of the chamber._  
  
_The cat could see a glow of candles from a corridor when the door was opened a fraction._  
_“Jaime?”, the woman whispered in low, purring voice._  
_The cat’s whiskers trembled and if it were a human, it would have bitten its own tail to keep still. But for a cat, it was no consequence why another pair of feet, these in fine white calfskin boots, appeared in lord’s bedchamber._  
_“Jaime.”, the woman whispered again. “I need you.”_  
_The two pairs of feet were facing each other, now, and the cat heard a wet sound. Its eyes flashed with shock in the dark under the lord’s bed, but it kept very still._  
_“In here?”, the man’s voice was a bit wary, but more amused than angry._  
_“He drank himself into stupor, even though  ser Raymun’s wine tastes like cheap piss.”, the woman’s voice was coloured with disdain._  
_“What else you can expect from a former lord who fell so far from grace that he had to marry a bastard?”, the man’s reply made the cat swish its tail angrily from left to right. There were several wet sounds again, until he continued:_  
_“But his bed is inviting.”_  
_“It would serve Robert right for dragging me here.”, the woman replied, pressing herself against the male._

 _The cat waited in the dark. It watched how a red thin gown of lace and silk pooled on the carpet and the woman’s bare feet stepped out of it. White vestments appeared on lord Raymun’s Myrish carpet, and a sword was quietly placed on the floor next to them._  
_“Cersei.”, the man’s voice was thick and heated, and the cat could smell the arousal. “Not everything. It will take too long to put everything back.”_  
_The cat glanced at the left, where King Robert’s clothes were piled neatly on a chair, next to armor stand which held the King’s mail. The famous warhammer stood next to it. A squire had put them there, when he undressed the king._  
_“If you think you are going to fuck me in your breastplate, you are mistaken. It feels like him on the top of me. I need to feel your skin, Jaime. Please.”_  
_The cat flinched, when it felt the hold on its mind growing firmer. It sat up in the dark, waiting. When breastplate was put on the carpet, and the man’s hairy legs climbed back to lord Raymun’s bed, the cat tiptoed to other side of the bed where a stinking king slept. A hand was hanging limply from the bed._  
_When the bed creaked, and a smell of sex reached cat’s whiskers, it raised a paw, pushing claws out and swished them across the king’s palm. Blood began to dwell in the cuts, and it felt oddly satisfying for the cat._  
_“Oh, Jaime…”_  
_Annoyed at the drunk man who had not woken up, the cat opened its jaws, manoeuvring two of the king’s thick fingers in her mouth. This was the hand which had slain her sire… The cat stopped, momentarily confused at odd thoughts in her head, but then it remembered and bit it’s teeth together as hard as it could. The cat’s sharp teeth crunched against the drunken man’s fingers, and she tasted blood in her mouth. The drunk man yelled, and the hand was pulled away. The cat ran back into her hiding place._  
_“TRAITORS!!!”, the bed creaked again, and the floor shook when another pair of feet jumped on the floor._

“TRAITORS!!!”,  
Rhaella woke up from her slumber to the sound of roaring coming from the lord’s bedchamber. Raymun, who slept next to her, was already getting up, dressing hastily. The queen was screaming, the king was shouting, and the Kingsguard on the other side of the door were there, too.  
“Get help!”, Ser Raymun commanded, taking his sword and running to king’s room in his nightgown.  
The noise had woken up the baby, who was crying in his cradle when Rhaella hurried to corridor. The door to king’s room was open, and she could hear the sounds of fighting inside.  
“Put your weapons down!!”, her husband shouted.  
“Whose side you are on, idiots?”, the king bellowed, and there was a hard crash.  
“Jaime, Jaime!!”, the queen screamed, and then her words were suddenly cut into an ear-splitting cry of pain on the second sound of something being smashed against hard surface. Rhaella ran downstairs, shouting for the guards.

When she came back with Tylar and Dallen, Renly Baratheon in a knee-length nightshirt at her heels, first thing she noticed was the red, thick mess dripping from the carved leaves of bedpost Rhaella had so painstakingly cleaned. Jaime Lannister’s skull was broken, and Queen Cersei was howling, crying over his dead body.  
“You killed Jaime, you brute! He was worth a hundred of you! My father will make you pay!”, tears were running over Cersei’s face.  
“Outside!”, King Robert bellowed. “Outside, you whore!”  
Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were frozen on spot, and King Robert looked wrathful.  
“I know you two are Lannister cretins, but I am your KING!  Move, you idiots! What kind of fucking Kingsguard I have, if one of you is fucking my queen while I sleep! Was it all of you, or just her brother? Take her outside, I said!”, he roared, turning red.  
Ser Boros was first to move. He took Queen Cersei’s arm, and although she tried to resist, Ser Boros and Ser Meryn dragged her away from her brother’s corpse. Rhaella stood frozen at the doorway, pressing her body flat against the wall when King Robert stormed past.  
“Renly! Get me my soldiers, the Baratheon ones. Put every single Lannister man in the dungeons. Surely even a shithole like this has a dungeon! Darry! Show my brother where your fucking dungeon is. Everyone else at the yard, NOW!”

 

“Lady mother. What’s happening?”, Lyman whispered, holding her hand tightly. Everyone in the castle had been ordered on the yard, except Lannister men whom king’s soldiers were still collecting together. Darry was a modest keep, and there were holding cells for no more than five people in the dungeon. Nobody had dared to tell King Robert about it yet.  
The king was standing in the middle of the yard, shouting for Ilyn Payne. Queen Cersei, who was still naked, was held between Ser Boros and Ser Meryn, screaming and trying to get away from them.  
“A terrible thing, love. The queen committed a treason. I don’t want you to look.”, Rhaella whispered, pulling Lyman closer. “Press your face against my dress and try not to listen.”  
She remembered Arthur, and the sound of drip-drip-drip which still haunted her dreams and felt sick. Some memories carved themselves too deep in a human mind, and never lost their crystal clarity. Even though it had been years, Rhaella could still recall every word the man impaled by weirwood roots had chanted when the spotted creatures butchered Arthur to pay for the dragon’s life. Rhaella didn’t care if boys were supposed to become men by seeing hard things; seeing this would be good for no one. One glance at helpless lord Tyrion proved it. The dwarf’s expression was one of naked pain, when he looked at Cersei who was still screaming about Jaime, and tears fell from his mismatched eyes. Rhaella prayed nobody would wake up the royal children. They did not deserve to see this. She had posted two Darry soldiers at the door leading to room the children shared. Hopefully King Robert would not remember they existed before this was over.  
“I fought a war to end the line of incestuous dragonspawn who stole my only love. I never thought that I only ended up with worse snake on my bosom!”, King Robert roared. He spat on the ground, and pointed at Ilyn Payne, who stood quietly next to weeping Cersei.  
“Execute the Lannister bitch. She, and her whole family of snakes, are traitors.”, he said.  
Rhaella curved her hand against Lyman’s neck, pressing the boy’s face against her skirts. She spread the fingers of her left hand to shield Deremond’s eyes, but her own gaze didn’t waver. She had caused this, and she would see it to the end.  
  
Jaime Lannister had killed her grandfather he was sworn to protect, Lannister men had killed Rhaenys and Aegon, but Lannisters were not the only House who paid their debts. In rich, ignorant south where people killed their skinchangers before they ever learned a thing, nobody would ever suspect a housecat.

 


	12. War for the honor, war for the crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war begins between Robert Baratheon and Lannisters, and Viserys joins the fight on his own side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving on another work trip, and I can't schedule updates automatically so you'll get Tuesdays' and Wednesday's chapters now. Next update will be on Friday.

The royal progression had finally left to north, and hopefully the stench of blood would vanish in next rain. Due to size of their dungeons and the Usurper’s terrible rage, so many people had been killed on Darry yard that sand had turned red, and it had to be dug up and changed.  
Rhaella had slipped inside Arthur’s skin last night, flying over a colourful city of three thick walls carved with animals, war and naked people coupling. It was marvellous to feel so strong and fearsome. Nobody could hurt her when she was a dragon.  
Viserys had sensed something. He had asked Arthur in his beautiful Valyrian what was happening, and the dragon had purred when his legs pressed tightly against their body. Rhaella felt a heat rising on her cheeks. Last thing she wanted to dream about was being ridden by Viserys. She was a married woman, by Seven, and sleeping next to her husband.  But still, it was good to know Arthur was alive and well.

Now she sat at her window while the baby suckled, watching through the eyes of birds to be certain they would not turn back. Ser Raymun, who had seen the Usurper off, sat down at her side.  
Tickling the baby’s neck with her fingertips, she asked:  
“What did the Usurper say when he summoned you to him before they left?  
“The king gave me back my title.”, Ser Raymun said. “He laughed and said that even though my House is filled with rotten dragon lovers, it would not do to let Ned’s bastard to be anything less than a lady.”  
“Ah.”, Rhaella raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was unexpected, and made Rhaella more worried about lord Stark’s reaction, but having the title restored was still a great boon.  
“You are a little lord, then.”, she said fondly to Deremond, who was falling asleep. “It means fostering for your brother, and maybe a place as a squire for you.”  
“I have already written to lord Gerald Grafton of Gulltown about Lyman.”, lord Raymun admitted. “His father, Marq Grafton fought on our side in the rebellion.”  
He took the sleeping baby from her and put the infant in a cradle next to bed. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he asked:  
“What will Ned Stark do when the king accuses him for having a natural-born daughter with Ashara Dayne?”  
“I don’t know.”, Rhaella said uncertainly. “I know that lady Ashara had a baby, but he died two days before I was born. I never asked much about it because it would have been cruel. If lady Ashara had a paramour, it had ended by the time my memories of Starfall begin. She told everyone I was her daughter, and Dorne doesn’t care overly much about whether children are trueborn or not.”  
Raymun made a small noise of acknowledgement.  
“Do you think there will be a war?”, Rhaella asked worriedly, thinking about dead queen.  
“Yes.”  
“If the war comes here, it will be a good precaution to send your heir elsewhere. Even though I will miss Lyman.”  
She was fond of her stepson and not eager to send him to some lord she knew nothing about. Still, one needed to think these things practically. She didn’t think that there was a mother in Westeros who was happy to send her son away from home to be raised by someone else. Perhaps Gregor Clegane’s mother.  
“I don’t think Darry is in danger. We are closer to Vale than Westerlands, and even Tywin Lannister can’t stand alone against other Six.”, her husband predicted.  
Rhaella gave him a small nod, not wholly convinced.  
“Don’t worry. It will go as the gods will it.”, lord Raymun said. His hands massaged her shoulders, and Rhaella leaned against his touch, closing her eyes.  
“It will go as the gods will it.”, she echoed. There was nothing she could do about it. Worrying about Lannisters and the Usurper would be as useless as Stalker guarding an old bone. The wolf had been the youngest and weakest of One Eye’s pack, and if any of the bigger wolves wanted his bone, they would take it and there was nothing Stalker could do. It was the law of nature. Unlike wolves, humans had at least a pretence of decorum. Teaching her sons to be honourable knights was the only way Rhaella could change anything. Honor was the only shield remaining for those not strong enough to defend themselves.  
 “Are you well?”, Lord Raymun’s question interrupted her melancholic thoughts.  
Rhaella felt the warmth of his hands on her shoulders and smiled quietly to herself.  
“I am well, husband.”, she replied softly.  
“Good.”, he said in warm, low voice. “Now that the Usurper no longer snores in my bed, I wish to take you there. Maybe wolves will eat them all on their way to north, and then the Seven Kingdoms need a new, true king.”  
His calloused hands began neatly untying the silk ribbon closing the bodice of her dress, and warmth began to pool in her core.  
“Is it so?”, Rhaella raised her eyebrow.  
“Yes. I feel like a kingmaker today, wife.”, he said.  “It’s not every day I’m called the lord of rotten dragon lovers. I know I’m not the kind of man who would sit on the Iron Throne, but our guests put me on a mood to father more sons to take the Usurper’s head.”  
“Viserys is the king.”, she disagreed, shivering in delight when his short beard scratched her neck, and he kissed her neck. When she first wed him, Rhaella had been apprehensive about married love, but it was different. There were no wolves or ice bears staring at them; her lord husband was a knight and always asked her first if she was well. First time she told him no, because she still bled after giving birth, Rhaella had been terrified. But he had simply kissed her then and let her be. She felt like she had a choice, and it made everything different.  
“I don’t think he would mind his nephews taking the Usurper’s head for him.”, Raymun said. His thumb began to make little circles against her skin, making her breath come faster.  
“By Seven, you have the finest tits in the Seven Kingdoms.”, he muttered in her ear, rubbing her nipple between his fingers.  
“You are going to get milk everywhere! It’s sticky.”, Rhaella protested.  
“Wife, there is no more beautiful sight than your tits flowing milk for a babe I put in you.”, he said gruffly. “Only a fool would complain about getting his hands a little sticky.”  
She felt a rush of fierce warmth in her heart and turned around to put her arms around lord Raymun’s neck.  
“I love you.”, her words came out in a rush. “I’m so glad you found me, and I think I love you.”  
The shock and surprise on his face was endearing. It was like seeing the sun rise behind the vast forest in the north.  
“My lady, I..”, he stammered. “But I’m nothing but a fourth son. I wasn’t even supposed to be a lord. I’m twelve years older than you, and not a handsome man. You are Prince Rhaegar’s daughter.”  
“But Rhaegar isn’t here. He never was there, because he took someone else’s bride and hid in a tower, leaving his sick father to stop the war he had caused. His stupid prophecy killed him like it killed Arthur and left me all alone in the north. “, Rhaella stated.  
She looked at her husband’s plain face and said fiercely:  
“I chose you. You offered to escort me back to Starfall, but I chose to stay. You were the first person who ever gave me a choice over my own fate. Arthur was admired in all Seven Kingdoms, but he never asked me if I wanted to leave my mother; he just took me from lady Ashara because that’s what men with power do. They don’t ask, they just do, and people like me are left powerless to do anything except follow along and hope not to die. You did not. You always ask me, and if I say no, you have never forced me.”  
“My lady, I would never…”, lord Raymun stammered.  
“I know you wouldn’t, and that is why I love you.”, Rhaella said patiently.  
Shock in his blue eyes began to change into pride, but lord Raymun said nothing. He just scooped her up in his arms and walked through the linen closet to lord’s bedchamber. Maybe fourth sons make better husbands, Rhaella mused fondly, because they have not grown up blinded with power.

\--

Her peace didn’t last for long.

  
A bite on Robert Baratheon’s hand had been a spark which was growing into hellfire, and Rhaella wondered if she was as foolish as her father. She had gotten her revenge against the Kingslayer who had murdered her grandfather the king, but now things were getting worse. Lyman’s oldest cousin and lord Tytos’ heir, Brandon Blackwood, had arrived from Raventree this morning, bringing a message from his father. He was still in lord Raymun’s solar, even though breakfast had already been served and the midday meal was less than an hour away.  
Darry’s arms master, Ser Bradyn Hill, had joined them too, and whatever the men were discussing, it was not for others to hear because all talk had ended when Rhaella had brought them food and drink.  
  
On the afternoon when Brandon Blackwood had left without seeing Lyman, there were more guests. A talkative squire, Myles, brought lord Raymun a missive from his liege lord Hoster Tully.    
While lord Raymun read his letter in his solar, Myles regarded Rhaella and her maid, Rosie, with a lurid second-hand story of Sansa Stark’s engagement to Renly Baratheon at Riverrun.   
“The bride blushed prettily, and the groom was gracious, but what made the celebration memorable was lord Stannis.”, Myles explained enthusiastically. “Lord Stannis announced that he would not share the high table with bastards born of incest!”  
Rosie’s eyes widened in shock, and Rhaella swallowed her drink wrong.  
“Truly?!”, Rosie cried out, patting Rhaella’s back. “Please, Myles, did he really say that?”  
Happy to have the reaction he had sought for, Myles continued:  
“Oh, yes. I heard the whole story from lord Edmure, and he was there! The Stark girl is his niece. It seems that lord Stannis and the former Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, had been wondering why the King Robert’s children don’t look like him at all. Isn’t it true that King Robert caught his queen fucking the Kingslayer in lord Raymun’s bed?”  
“Lannister deaths were unfortunate, and we do not discuss them here in Darry.”, Rhaella said firmly, having recovered from her sudden cough.  
“As you wish, my lady.”, Myles said, not pleased to have more fodder for his rumours, but he lit up again when he continued his story.  
“King Robert demanded explanation, and then lord Stannis pulled out some old dusty book, saying that every time a Lannister and a Baratheon married, the children had black hair. He also started listing names of King Robert’s bastards, and they all have black hair, yet Cersei’s three children are golden! King Robert shouted for his warhammer and Lord Edmure said that the king would have killed the children where they sat if not for lord Stark, who reasoned with him. But before the night ended, the princes had been sent to Wall under a guard and the little princess sworn to Silent Sisters. And now they are amassing an army to fight the Lannisters!”  
“I must go to see my lord.”, Rhaella said, gathering her skirts.  
  
Her heart beat loudly in her ears when she hurried up the stairs to lord Raymun’s solar. When she pushed open the door and saw him look up from his letter, she knew.  
“Lord Edmund calls us to marshal at Riverrun. He wants Darry men stationed below the Golden Tooth in anticipation of Lannister attack.”, lord Raymun said. “But I also had a word from our king. King Viserys has taken the Vale with his dragon and put Harold Hardyng as the lord of the Eyrie last night. He has an army of Valemen, some eastern soldiers I’ve never heard of and mountain clans, and he asks loyal houses of Riverlands and Stormlands to rise and take the Dragonstone now that lord Stannis is at Riverrun.”  
“You are leaving?”, she asked in small voice.  
He nodded, looking grim.  
“I’m sorry, Rhaella.”, he said, but it was no consolation to her.

 


	13. Lord Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaella meets her uncle, who is kind but torn between his duties. She understands what it means to lose in game of thrones.

Her husband was gone, and Rhaella felt his loss keenly. The godswood in Darry was filed with red and yellow leaves, and it brought her no solace. She prayed in the sept every day after evening meal because a lady must be pious, but the painted statues had no power behind them. Even though Rhaella knew that there were other ways to view the world than Haggon’s grim teachings, she could not find reassurance in something which was just a painted piece of oak. The Old Gods terrified her, but they were real, unlike the Seven. She had seen them with her own eyes sitting on their weirwood thrones, bound forever to roots of their trees. The flavour of bitter red paste rose to her mouth, a ghostly reminder of time she did not want to recall, and Rhaella dug her nails into her palm while she listened her steward tallying the costs of restocking Darry larders after royal visit. 

She had hoped to quicken with another child before he left, but it would not be so. The soft rags folded in her underpants were wet and warm with blood, and she felt angry, so angry and powerless. What if Lord Raymun died? What if Tywin Lannister came to Darry to revenge his children? What would the Usurper do when he found out that Viserys was here, and half of the riverlords had ridden to join him?

Deep in her thoughts, she almost bumped against Rosey in the linen closet.  
“M’lady!”, the maid cried. “There is a guest, my lady, a highborn guest with at least fifty men who wants to see you m’lady!”  
“Who is it?”, Rhaella asked with alarm. “Did you see a coat of arms?”  
“It’s a direwolf, m’lady.”, the girl was terrified. “Lord Stark is here, and he wants to see you in the godswood. One of their men said that each child of Eddard Stark has a huge direwolf, bigger than a pony, and they fight and sleep at their masters’ side.”  
Rhaella was genuinely surprised. Haggon had always said that skinchangers were hunted down and killed south of the Wall. But lady Lyanna had been a Stark, and Rhaella had learned that warg blood ran in families. A spark of longing made Rhaella’s heart ache. She had never had a family, and Deremond was the only one who shared her blood. With Prince Rhaegar’s shadow looming so strongly over her, she had never given much thought to Lyanna Stark’s family. But the presence of lord Stark meant that Usurper’s stupid joke had reached him, and now Rhaella had to find a way to entangle herself from this mess. Drat that man!

She fixed a smile on her face and went to welcome her doom.

\--

“I talked with lord Renly in Winterfell. He said that you pray to Old Gods and New, but there is no weirwood in Darry.”, lord Stark said. “The heart tree in Winterfell is old, and sometimes there are saplings.”  
“I’m very grateful for your kind gift.”, Rhaella said, watching a man to dig a hole in the ground. Her mouth felt dry when a sturdy, small weirwood sapling was taken out from a sack and planted there. It had no face yet.  
His task done, lord Stark sent his man to wait him outside the godswood and sat down on a stone in front of the tree.   


“I don’t know where to start.”, lord Eddard ran a hand through his long brown hair in a frustrated gesture. “Your husband was summoned to Riverrun, but he did not come. The Vale has been taken by Viserys Targaryen, and there is fighting in the Stormlands as well as in the west. Tywin Lannister has hired the Golden Company, and their ten thousand men fight alongside of his thirty-five thousand Westermen, while King Robert’s army is squeezed here between two fronts.”  
Rhaella stayed silent, holding her hands on her lap.   
“I came to tell that your husband, as well as the lords Blackwood, Mooton, and Ryger have been declared traitors to the crown, and the king is confiscating their lands. You and the children are King Robert’s hostages, now.”  
“I understand.”, Rhaella said in a small voice.   
“I’m no good at southron games.”, Lord Stark said. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I need to be blunt. Who are your parents?”  
Rhaella wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.  
“What does it matter to you, my lord?”, she asked. “I have nothing to do with King Robert’s rude joke, and I am sorry for difficulties it may have caused to you. He leaped into conclusions after I told him Ashara Dayne raised me.”  
The man regarded her with solemn grey eyes.  
“I understand you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. Still, I need to know the truth. You have the look of my family, but I have never fathered a bastard. Who is you father?”, lord Stark pressed.  
“I have never met my father. I can’t answer your question.”, Rhaella said.  
Lord Stark’s face looked like it was carved from stone, frightening her, and Rhaella knew he would not take her answer.   
“Tell me the truth, lady Rhaella. Are you Targaryen blood?”, he asked, and the safe little world Rhaella had so carefully built for herself in Darry came crashing down.  
She fell on her knees in front of him, pleading desperately.  
“Bad things have happened in this house, but none of them are our fault. I assure you, we harbour no treacherous thoughts in Darry. My husband married me out of pity and kindness, and I would not see him suffer for it. You are King Robert’s best friend, and you fought on his side in the war. It was not my fault to be named after a dead queen, and it was not my fault to be born with unlucky hair. I beg your mercy, lord Stark.”, tears ran down Rhaella’s face. “If you came here to kill me, please spare my son. He is innocent.”  
  
He told her in quiet voice how he had been too shy to ask a lady to dance in tournament of Harrenhall, and his brother Brandon had to ask for him.  
“I was shy, but Brandon wasn’t. He had wolf’s blood, like my sister. Everything was competition to him, and he laughed at me making calf-eyes at a lady.”, lord Stark said. “When I found out he had dishonoured lady Ashara, we argued, and I hit him. We were still not talking when he died.”  
“I’m sorry.”, Rhaella offered.  
“After Prince Rhaegar died, I rode to Dorne to find Lyanna. I found an empty tower, where Ashara Dayne told me my sister had died, giving birth to stillborn boy. The little boy had purple eyes and dark hair, and I buried him in secret in Winterfell crypt with Lyanna. But then Robert came to Wintefell, making jokes about me fathering a bastard on a woman whom I had loved but never touched except for that one dance. And I began to wonder.”, lord Stark watched her with sad grey eyes.  
“First I thought you were Brandon’s, but you are too afraid for your child. Was that dead boy truly my sister’s child with Rhaegar Targaryen, Rhaella?”  
“I need you to swear my son will be safe.”, Rhaella said in trembling voice.  
“I swear on my honor that your son will not come to harm if you tell me the truth.”, Lord Stark promised solemnly.  
One could not lie in front of a heart tree. It would anger the Old Gods. But Rhaella could not make herself to say it out loud. So, she bent her head, and nodded.  
“Arthur Dayne told me that her sister had given birth to a dead boy two days before I was born. Please, my lord, I don’t want to die.”, she whispered.  
Eddard Stark closed his eyes, and drew a slow breath, looking stricken and sad.   
“You are my kin.”, he said. “I’m sorry, Rhaella, for failing you. I loved Lyanna, and if I had not been fooled, I would have taken you back to north and raised you as my own, among your family.”  
“You can’t save me. I understand. But can’t you hide Deremond, please? He is just a baby, a blue-eyed baby, and still bald. Robert Baratheon is going to kill him.”, Rhaella was desperate. “My parents were wed in front of a heart tree. Robert will kill him, just like he killed Aegon and Rhaenys.”  
“I can’t let you go.”, lord Stark said. “I’m Robert’s Hand, and you are Rhaegar’s heir, a threat to the Iron Throne. But you are also Lyanna’s daughter. My niece.”  
He rubbed his temples, looking pained.  
“We must wait.”, he finally said. “We are in war. If your husband dies, you are free to marry. Robert could solidify his claim and satisfy the loyalists by marrying you. You are young and fertile. None of the Great Houses except Harold Arryn support Viserys, and he is a young man, still. Robert could not kill you son once you were wed. He would be sent to the Wall, where my brother Benjen would care for him. But now is not the right time to tell Robert. As long as your husband lives, he will not see the advantages, only his rage.”  
Seven Hells would freeze over before Rhaella would let her son to walk in Brynden River’s haunted forest or marry the Usurper. But Eddard Stark did not need to know that.  
“Yes.”, she said, letting her tears fall. “I apologize, lord Stark. This is very hard for me.”  
“I understand, and I’m sorry to have upset you.”, he said. “I’m leaving thirty of my own men to Darry. They will guard you and your son with their lives.”  
“Thank you.”, Rhaella sniffed.

 

 


	14. Lannisters pay their debts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianne Martell gives us a hint on what Viserys has been doing, while Lannisters pay their debts and accidentally save Rhaella from the Usurper's men.

First time Arianne Martell saw her betrothed, she knew she would never be happy. But it was lady Nym who said her thoughts out loud.  
“Why, cousin. The dragon king does not have teeth.”'  
“Now it’s finally clear why your father always suggested toothless old men for you.”, Obara noted, emptying her cup of wine. “Doesn’t look much like a warrior.”  
“Maybe he has other talents.”, Tyene said, but even her sweetness didn’t calm the sting of disappointment.

The Targaryen prince stood at the terra, speaking with her father. Against the vivid orange trees and desert flowers blooming in Water Gardens, Viserys Targaryen had no colour at all except white. His skin was pale, his hair was silver-blond, his eyes were not properly purple but lilac. He was a gaunt man with hard lines on his face, looking older than his twenty-two years, and not as tall as Elia’s prince had been. For a man whose words were fire and blood, he looked like someone had drained all his blood, and the stiff, controlled manner he held himself told her he had no fire, either, Arianne thought. In short, her father would love him, her uncle Oberyn would hate him, and she would be miserable for all her years. A man like him would not even elope with another woman and give her an excuse to send Sand Snakes to kill him.  
  
But he only had a dragon, Arianne reminded herself. For a careful man like her father, one dragon was not enough to send Dornish spears to war. The prince needed more allies before Arianne had any reason to worry, and it was unlikely that Beggar King would ever find any Houses willing to die for him.

  
Except then he did.

\---

 

“Targaryen has struck a deal with Harry the Heir, who is next in line for the Vale.”, lady Nym told her one evening when Arianne and the older Sand Snakes were eating strawberries. “Now that Jon Arryn is dead, his sickly little boy rules from the Eyrie. He has a shaking disease, and the lords are grumbling because their six-year-old lord is still rumoured to suck his lady mother’s breast.”  
“I can see how it insults their honor.”, Tyene said with a sweet smile.  
“And when the lords grumble, they turn to Harry the Heir, who is every inch a young lord-in-waiting. I wouldn’t mind sampling him myself. Straight as a lance and hard with muscle.”, Nym licked her finger clean.  
“Why would a lord like that care anything about Arianne’s toothless man?”, Obara asked.  
“It’s said that they met when the mountain clans had captured Harry. Targaryen leads them, you know.”, lady Nym bit a strawberry. “He’s got hundreds and hundreds of savages who worship him as a fire witch. Harry the Heir was supposed to be a meal for his dragon, but they became fast friends, instead. Now, half of the houses in Vale of Arryn didn’t follow Jon Arryn in the rebellion, and the other half is getting angry because their liege lord makes them ashamed, and dragon king who would give them Harry the Heir begins to look better and better every day. Harry’s biggest problem is the unbreachable Eyrie, where little lord Sweetrobin sits like a baby bird in his nest, but he has a good friend who has a dragon. Or four of them, actually.”  
“Four?”, Arianne asked, unpleasantly surprised. “I remember hearing about one.”  
“Four.”, Tyene confirmed. “He had one, but it laid eggs, and now he has one huge dragon and three little ones. I spoke with a septon who used to serve at Dragonstone. The poor man was so upset about Lord Stannis’ new red priestess throwing him out and burning his sept. He told me that only a godly man should sit on the Iron Throne, and apparently your future husband has said that it was the Smith who changed his fate and gave him what he needs to put the world to right. They met in a sept at Crackclaw Point. Do you want to hear what prince Viserys asked from Seven?”  
Tyenne’s eyes twinkled mischievously when she continued:  
“He prayed for his queen’s safety.”

\--

The death of golden Lannister twins came as a surprise for them all. Not even Uncle Oberyn or lady Nym could figure out how Targaryen had arranged it, and Arianne’s curiosity won. She paid three golden coins to youngest Sand Snakes, so they would keep watch and tell her when prince Viserys visited her father. Their talks were kept secret, of course, but secrets had never stopped Arianne or her cousins.

Areo Hotah tried to stop her, of course, but Arianne knew who she was, and would not take no for an answer. A future princess of Dorne had a place in a table where prince of Dorne discussed matters of realm with her betrothed. Also, she could be very loud in her demands when she wanted to, and doors in Water Garden were not as thick as most people would think.  
When her father gave a command and his captain lowered his axe to let Arianne pass, she entered the room with a smile on her face. She knew the power of her charms and the flowing silk dress in a colour of a ripe peach; Viserys Targaryen was not the first man she had seduced to tell his secrets.  
Her betrothed looked up from a map and gave her a nod of acknowledgement.  
“Princess Arianne.”, he said.  
“Prince Viserys.”, she purred, sitting between him and her father.   
“What are you discussing, father?”, Arianne asked.  
“I received a letter where Robert Baratheon disowned Queen Cersei’s children, calling them bastards born of incest.”, prince Doran said.  
“His brother Stannis brought him a book of genealogy, which stated that every child born from Baratheon marriage with Lannister for hundreds of years has always had a black hair.  It’s said he would have killed the children, but Stark reasoned with him, sending the boys to Wall and the girl to Silent Sisters. Now the lords of the realm are called to arms, and the Usurper is waiting for them to gather at Riverrun.”, prince Viserys said. He kept his mouth half closed when he spoke, and his sibilants were so carefully spoken that it sounded stupid.  
“How did you do it?”, Arianne asked. “You got revenge on Lannisters, and managed to blame it on Robert, even.”  
“The Kingslayer died at Darry.”, Viserys said. “Their house has always stood on our side even when others did not.”  
Looking at Arianne’s father, he added:  
“Houses who don’t set terms and conditions to their loyalty are treasure to any ruler.”  
“Indeed.”, Dorian said blandly.  
“But we’ve discussed this thoroughly, and I don’t think either of us is going to change our minds on the issue today. My brother’s children will be avenged, but I won’t put my revenge before the Iron Throne.”, prince Viserys said, standing up. “You can send your messages to Dragonstone. My army took it a fortnight ago.”  
Suddenly the dragon roared at the yard, a high, alarmed sound, and the prince’s cool façade cracked.  
“I must go.”, he said, and ran past Arianne to dark gardens where the beast waited.

 

\--

 

A dying man screamed behind the door, and the door rattled on hinges when something crashed against it. Shards of wood fell on the floor. A greatsword, Rhaella thought, when she saw a tip pushing through. The door to nursery was coming down.   
“I’m coming for you, Darry!”, a voice like stones grinding shouted.

The children were cowering in the corner of the room. Deremond was weeping, and Lyman held his little brother tightly, his eyes wide and terrified.   
“Lyman, do you listen to me? I am going to stop the man who comes through that door, but I need your help.”, Rhaella said firmly.  
He nodded, his mouth wobbling.  
“Yes, mother.”, his answer was almost a sob.  
“I will put him in his knees, he will throw his weapons away and take his helmet off, and then you stab him in his throat. Push the dagger as deep as it will go.”, Rhaella ordered, pulling a long, sharp dagger out from her belt and handing it to frightened boy.   
“Lyman, I know it’s frightening, but you need to be strong for your little brother.”, she closed the boy’s fingers around the dagger. “The man killed your father. I won’t let him kill us, but you need to help me.”  
He nodded again, standing up on shaking feet. Rhaella wanted to pull him into her arms and save her child from something which would change him irrevocably, but theirs was not a safe world. The loss of Arthur had changed her, and this would change her children, but Rhaella would not let them die. They could heal, and they could go on, but only if they lived.  
“I love you both.”, she said, and turned to face the door.  
  
The door crashed down, and the man standing behind it had to bow to fit through the doorway.  Gregor Clegane wore a chainmail under his plate, and the little chains clinked against the layers of metal and boiled leather. No weapon could breach all those layers of steel, and his plate helm had only a narrow slit for vision.    
This was how Elia and her children had died, she thought. Tywin Lannister’s hunger for revenge had proven deep enough to break into her prison just to kill her and her children. His monster had gone through thirty Stark men and her own servants to get here. But she was not Elia.  
Rhaella focused her eyes on the narrow slit on Mountain’s helmet, meeting a gaze of cruel brown eyes. Rhaella summoned all her strength, leapt out of her own skin and forced herself inside the Mountain.

Her own body collapsed on the floor, and the children screamed. The Mountain roared, twitching and clawing at their plate-cowered flesh.  
“Get out, get out you fucking witch!”, his voice boomed louder than the weeping of her terrified children. They staggered, falling on their knees while they fought for control. Their hands flailed uncontrollably, and the greatsword fell on the floor. She smelled a foul stench when the Mountain’s bowel emptied, and they crashed against the wall, trashing on the floor. Rhaella would not fail. She could not fail, or her children would die. She was not Elia of Dorne, she was lady Rhaella Darry, and she _would not fail_ to protect her children like her parents had failed her _._  
Their hands were clawing at their helmet, but Rhaella seized the right foot, and kicked the greatsword to the other side of the room.   
“WITCH!”, the Mountain roared.  
Rhaella snapped their teeth together, filling their mouth with blood. The pain was sharp and burning, and the lump of flesh in their mouth was trying to fall down their throat. The Mountain howled, and his hands lifted up, pulling on the helmet. Finally! The plate helm clanged when it hit the floor, and Gregor Clegane spat a tongue out of his bleeding mouth. It landed on her own body, staining the hem of her dress, Rhaella noticed disgustedly.   
Lyman stepped towards them, holding the dagger in a trembling hand, and Rhaella steeled herself.

“NOW, LYMAN!”, she roared with Mountain’s voice, and held on the man with everything she had. The man fought her for control, trying to claw at her, but she clung to him, willing herself to be as cold and unmovable as ice. She looked through his eyes at Lyman, who stood in front of them and Rhaella saw hatred on her son’s face when he raised the dagger.  

Sharp, searing pain when the blade impaled their throat was almost a relief.

  

Her head hurt so bad that Rhaella could scarcely turn it. She whimpered from pain and let out a yelp when the children crashed against her.   
“Mother!”, Lyman howled, and little Deremond cried, burrowing against Rhaella’s side.  
“It’s all right.”, Rhaella whispered, trying to move her lips as little as possible.  
“I thought you died, too.”, Lyman wept.   
“You were so brave. It’ll be all right now. The Mountain is dead. Someone will come and save us.”, Rhaella promised. It was a lie, because their guards were enemies too, all Stark men loyal to Usurper, and now likely dead. Even the Mountain could not have killed thirty men alone, and she didn’t know how many enemies were in the castle. Any of Lannister men, or even Baratheon men who might come to help, would kill Rhaella and the children and she didn’t have strength to take out another man.  
“We must be very quiet, so the bad men won’t hear us before help comes.”, Rhaella said. “Close your eyes, be silent, and lay very still.”  
She pulled her children closer. Then she felt a sudden, anxious push in her mind – Arthur - and blacked out when a dragon landed in Darry godswood.

\--

 

Arthur screeched, landing on a yard of a small keep and almost rolling Viserys off his back. He landed on one knee, cursing, and slapped the dragon.  
“Why did we have to come here?”, he demanded.   
Arthur just whined, sounding upset.  
The gates of the castle were broken, the splintered wood hanging from the hinges. A banner was torn down and thrown on the muddy ground. Viserys took a step closer. He had not noticed it first, but on a dark brown field there was a ploughman.   
“Darry.”, he hissed. “Oh, shit.”  
Now he understood it all. Lord Raymun had died in the siege of Dragonstone. The Blackwood boy had claimed to the end that it had not been an enemy arrow, but Lannisters who had shot him. Viserys had put people looking into it, because he knew Tywin Lannister carried a grudge.   
Arthur made a high, keening noise, trying to stick his head inside the front door. There was a corpse laying on the threshold, an old man in chainmail and direwolf painted on his shield. A gash ran from his neck to his chest. A blow had almost severed his torso in two. Viserys grimaced. Seven!  
Arthur was making a lot of noise, and Viserys didn’t notice a thing before an arrow whistled past his ear. He pulled out his sword, diving for cover, but Arthur was faster. The dragon stretched his long neck and picked a man from a stable roof, rattling him between his jaws before throwing the corpse on the ground.

Viserys was going to take a look at the corpse, but Arthur had a different opinion. The dragon lowered his snout, making that awful anxious whine, and gave Viserys a harsh push towards the door.  
Two of six tables in the hall were turned over and Viserys saw a corpse of a cat in a fireplace. A dead man had collapsed next to the cat, and he had no eyes. His face was red with deep scratches, and his eyeballs had been punctured. It was a disgusting sight, and Viserys grimaced.

He found an old, thin man trying to crawl up the stairs. His stomach was cut, and he had left traces of blood all over the floor.  
“What happened here?”, Viserys asked.  
“Your Grace.”, the old man’s eyes were clouded with pain, but his gaze was fixed on Viserys’ silver hair.  “Help.”  
“Who did this?”, Viserys insisted. “Where is lord Darry?”  
“Northmen came here months ago, taking the keep and lord Raymun’s family as hostages. Then Mountain attacked with his men, putting them all to sword and us, too. I tried to stop him with a sword I took from a dead Stark man, but the Mountain cut me through. Please, Your Grace, young lord Lyman is there, and I swore to lord Raymun— “, the man’s voice failed, and his next breath did not come.  
  
Damned Tywin Lannister! Viserys needed him, yes, but attacking his most loyal vassals was not allowed even if Tywin carried a grudge against them. It had been the Usurper, not Darry, who had turned Viserys’ luck by killing lord Tywin’s golden twins, giving Viserys the army he needed. Tywin Lannister had overstepped himself by allowing his bannerman to sack a loyalist house, even if the loyalist house had been taken by Usurper!  Cursing under his breath, Viserys glanced at the tapestry of Aegon the Unworthy on the top of the stairs and decided to make a haste. He didn’t think that he could kill the Mountain, but Tywin Lannister’s bannermen should know whom their lord served. If House Darry's male line had been extinguished, Viserys would demand Gregor Clegane’s head!

 

He found two dead men from the second floor, and one badly wounded hunting dog which whined miserably. The other three dogs were dead, and Viserys released the poor creature from his sufferings before moving on in search of a nursery. It was a sorry state indeed where a loyalist house had so few armed men that even cats and dogs were called to defend it, he mused grimly. But... Why they would do it?  
A memory of a girl drowning in a river rose to his mind, and Viserys pushed it away. He didn’t want to think about her. He was going to marry Arianne Martell to get Dorne and reminiscing would not make it any easier. But _Arthur_ had brought him here, and no ordinary cat would gouge a man’s eyes out. He hastened his steps, raising his voice and holding his sword ready.  
“Darry?”, he called. “Darry?”

A small boy appeared in a far doorway, holding a bloody dagger. His shirt was covered in blood, and he was shaking all over.  
“If you are an enemy, I will kill you. I already killed the Mountain.”, he said, swallowing tears.   
“I’m not your enemy, but your rightful King.”, Viserys snapped. “I am Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm.”  
The little boy fell on his knees, dropping his dagger.  
“Your Grace.”, he said, his face scrunching up with tears. “I am Lyman Darry, the oldest son of Lord Raymun Darry, and my mother is hurt. Please help.”

 


	15. Anything for the Iron Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaella and Viserys' reunion is a painful one.  
> "I forgot that a king must be hard in order to win the throne and keep it, but harder for himself than to others."

 

She woke up in a strange bed to see the king of Seven Kingdoms sitting sullenly on a stool next to her. Lyman, cleaned of blood and wearing much too big shirt with lovely embroidery, slept with mouth agape on her right. Deremond was sleeping in the circle of his brother’s arms, his dark blonde hair sticking to all directions and a thumb in his mouth.   
“This is Dragonstone.”, Viserys replied to her confusion, arms crossed over his chest while he glared at her. “You got married! And you had a child!”  
“You left me.”, Rhaella said hoarsely. Seven, she would never try to skinchange into a human again.  
“I came back.”, Viserys replied.  
She shook her head.  
“You were two years too late!”, she said fiercely.  
“I know.”, he replied, his voice coloured with regret. “But I need to take back the Iron Throne.”  
“Nothing good will come from it.”, Rhaella said bitterly. “It poisons everything and everyone.”  
“You can’t say that!”, Viserys’ temper flared. “It’s my birth right!”  
“When wanting to be king has given you anything good? It only takes and takes! It took my husband, who was the kindest man of them all. He was the best of husbands, and he died fighting for you.”, she accused.  
She had liked Viserys. Admired him. He was the first man she had a crush on. But it had been before her lord husband, the kindest man of them all, had died reclaiming this castle. For all her prayers, tears on her pillow and her longing, Rhaella had received only a box of bones, and she couldn’t forgive Viserys’ quest for Iron Throne for taking lord Raymun. Her sons would grow up without their father, she would never have another baby, and she would sleep alone for the rest of her days.  
“A husband you should not have had!”, Viserys raised his voice, and lowered it again when the children stirred. “You had no right to do that! You had no right to defy me! I prayed for you and I feared you were dead, while you were in another man’s bed! You are the blood of the dragon, but you were no better than your mother, the northern bitch in a heat who seduced my brother and ended up costing our throne!  You were mine, I loved y--”  
“You saved me, you were the first good thing which ever happened to me. But it doesn’t matter what I feel, because I’m _nothing_ like my mother. I’m not someone who would steal another woman’s husband. If you don’t get that bloody throne, lord Raymun died for nothing, and I won’t have that! Don’t you dare to say what you were going to say!”, Rhaella hissed furiously. “You are engaged to Arianne Martell, and if you say another word, there is no coming back from that. We’ll ruin everything just like my parents did and all of this, all what we have done will be for nothing! I didn’t kill the Kingslayer and cause a war and kill the Mountain, so you could be as foolish as prince Rhaegar!”  
Frozen silence fell between them, and Viserys opened and closed his mouth, unable to say a thing.  
“We will never speak of this again.”, he said finally. “It’s an order. By your king.”  
“Yes, Your Grace.”, Rhaella whispered, her anger already gone.  
“It was good of you to remind me of the truth.”, Viserys said, his shoulders slumping. “After Arthur left, I spent years begging in Free Cities, while people laughed at me. Daenerys didn’t understand. She never truly understood that three hundred years of power and glory rested on my shoulders, and there was nothing I could do not to shame my ancestors. I thought I was destined for failure, until I met you. I found you from the forest, and I thought you were my gift from the gods, a proof that life could change. That life could be kind again. I forgot that a king must be hard in order to win the throne and keep it, but harder for himself than to others. My mother told me that a good king is servant of his realm, and the realm must come first.”  
They sat in the dark room, both quietly bleeding from cuts the quest for ever distant Iron Throne had given them. But he would be a king, and she was his most loyal subject; both of them would bear their grief without a word.

  
“I have to go home to Darry.”, Rhaella said eventually. “Someone might steal my tapestries.”  
Viserys drew his fingers through his hair, looking tired.  
“You can’t stay there, Rhaella. There was no single living soul in the keep except you and the children, and the castle gates were broken.”  
“Darry is my home. I can’t just leave it. Broken men would steal all our things or torch the castle. I can’t do that to my children; it’s their birth right.”  
“And what if they torch the castle with you three still inside?”  
“I killed the Mountain. And I killed the Lannister twins, too. I can take care of myself and the children.”, Rhaella said stubbornly.   
“You killed the Lannisters?”, Viserys repeated.  
“It was the Usurper who did the killing, but I put a cat under their bed and bit the Usurper to wake him up. The Kingslayer murdered my grandfather, and I didn’t like them fornicating in my marriage bed. It was unseemly.”, Rhaella said sullenly.  
A hint of a smile rippled on the corner of Viserys’ mouth, and he asked delicately:  
“You killed my father’s murderer because you were offended by his lack of manners?”  
“It would have been foolish not to when the risk of getting caught was so small, and finding them together gave the Usurper something else to think about than the colour of my hair.”, she defended herself.  
“Oh, by Seven, Rhaella!”, he started to laugh. “You have been more useful for my war than any of my generals. You gave me Arthur and then Tywin Lannister. Without the loss of his children and grandchildren he would never have thrown his strength behind my cause. Now that little lord Darry killed Mountain in his nursery, the Martells cannot hold my alliance with Tywin Lannister against me any longer.”  
“You are allied with him? What does he want for his help?”, Rhaella asked.  
“The restoration of Lannister honour. A position of my Hand, in exchange for the Golden Company purchased with Lannister gold. But my father once said that for a man like Tywin Lannister, the future of his house is more important than any position a king could give, and I don’t know how to bind him to me. You could think about it while I’m gone. Maybe a female view would help.”, Viserys said. “  
“Where are you going?”, Rhaella asked  
“Dorne. I need to give them the Mountain.”, Viserys said in clipped tones. “Dragonstone is yours, however. While you slept, I wrote these.”  
He pulled a stack of parchments from his jacket.  
“It’s a confirmation of your legitimacy, stating that my brother was married to lady Lyanna and Arthur Dayne stood witness. I even included the drawing of you he gave to my mother. The Usurper’s brother never found the secret safe in nursery wall. I suspect it’s enchanted with blood magic or something.”, Viserys wrinkled his nose in disgust.  
“But it was only a heart tree, and Arthur was nowhere near.”, Rhaella whispered, perplexed.  
Viserys flashed her a quick smile, showing his teeth.  
“But you are the only one in whole realm who can see what truly happened. Truth is how we make it, and a story of secret Targaryen princess is much better for my claim than a secret bastard. I need all allies I can get.”  
She nodded quietly, still thinking over the matter.  
Viserys stood up, and said:  
“On the second page, I name you the princess of Dragonstone. The servants have been already informed that you will be giving orders during my absence. In the event of my death, the crown will pass to your son unless I have a son of my own.”  
He glanced at the sleeping toddler and added bitterly:  
“But if I fall, I would recommend you take the dragons, fly back behind the Wall and never tell him. Growing up with generations of dead kings weighing on one’s shoulders is not a kindness. Kings are not allowed to be happy.”


	16. The princess of Dragonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Aegon's garden, Rhaella finally glimpses the feeling which made her parents ruin everything, and Dorne stops postponing their assistance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wrapping up this story, and trying to tie up different subplots, so updates are slower. I expect to finish in four or five chapters, likely within next week.

The island was damp and dreary, and it smelled like sulfur and brimstone. Arianne shivered in her peach and orange silks, feeling the cold sink in her bones. Was this how it was going to be for the rest of her life? She had not even landed in the harbour yet, but she already missed warm, dry Dorne.  
  
“I hope they will finish the war soon. I don’t know if King’s Landing smells any better, but at least it’s dry.”, her sworn sword, Ser Daemon Sand muttered.  Next to him, Darkstar snickered. Arianne looked at him, inwardly asking herself why prince Dorian had to choose these two as her sworn swords. Both of them were excellent swordsmen, but they were also her former lovers, and had never gotten along well. But she had always had a weakness for handsome men with air of forbidden, Arianne mused. One could have worse weaknesses. She wasn’t a drunk, or drawn to her own brother like Cersei Lannister, or a precocious child like her cousin Elia Sand, the fourth Sand Snake.   
  
At thirteen, Elia thought she knew everything and could do anything. If she thought of anything else but horses or jousting, Arianne sighed. If only she could have taken Tyene with her, it would have been easier. But her uncle’s paramour, Ellaria Sand, had begged her, saying that Elia was almost a woman grown and it was time for her to stop being as wild as the black frilly she so loved. Lady Lance had already gotten into argument with Ser Joss Hood, a young knight from Sunspear who was one of Arianne’s sworn swords. Ser Garibald Shells, who was serious and traditional young knight, had not yet chosen a side, and Arianne’s second lady companion, lady Jayne Ladybright, was too greensick to have an opinion.  
  
After the corpse of Mountain had been dropped in the middle of Water Gardens, there had been no letters from prince Viserys. If the news of war had not reached Dorne through other means, the prince might have disappeared from the face of earth. But when armies of the Reach had turned against Renly Baratheon, taken King’s Landing and sent an envoy inviting prince Viserys to take the throne, prince Dorian had started to wonder if his carefulness had been a mistake. Margaery Tyrell was a maiden flowered, and a Reacher queen would not bear any good will towards Dorne. Prince Dorian had sent Arianne to Dragonstone with all haste, with orders to seal the marriage treaty before they lost in the game of thrones.

Princess and her companions had left too quickly to send a raven, but Targaryen banners were flowing above the central tower, signalling that the lord of Dragonstone was at home. At least they would be spared from riding across the front and trying to look for him, Arianne thought.

 

It was not the prince who came to greet Arianne at the door, but the Imp.  Tyrion Lannister was maybe even uglier than her betrothed, reminding her one of the gargoyles sitting atop of the walls.  
“Ah. The Dornish suitor, I see.”, the little man said, looking far too amused. “This will be interesting.”  
“I have no business with you or yours.”, Arianne said coldly. There was nothing but bad blood between Martells and Lannisters, and prince Viserys’ alliance with Tywin Lannister was the reason Dornish spears had been held back until now. “It is prince Viserys I came to see.”  
“Prince Viserys is here. He visits every few days to see the children.”, Tyrion Lannister said. “I daresay that your unexpected arrival might cause some disturbance, but I don’t expect it will last long. Princess has a knack for putting things to their proper places.”  
“Princess?”, Arianne frowned.  
“Have you not heard? Our benevolent king is not the only Targaryen, because you Dornish folks managed to hide one.”  
“You mean the Starfall bastard, then?”, Darkstar raised a thin eyebrow, scowling. He was a Dayne of High Hermitage, the cadet branch, and badly jealous of Arthur Dayne’s reputation as the Sword of the Morning. Comparing him to cousin Arthur was a sure way to fire him up with anger and passion, Arianne remembered, feeling pleasantly fluttery. If only her future husband had even a spark of that in his veins, their marriage might not have been a disaster Arianne was increasingly worried about. Darkstar, at least, managed to look good despite his silver hair. But he cut a fine, threatening figure while prince Viserys was gaunt and had no teeth.  
“Not a bastard, no. According to our good prince Viserys, prince Rhaegar married his lady Lyanna on the Isle of Faces, with Arthur Dayne and other loyal Kingsguard as their witnesses. My father was unsettled to understand that he had not gotten all Rhaegar’s children, but he is almost fond of princess Rhaella now. I heard him calling her ‘a sensible lady who understands her duties’, which coming from my father, is almost a declaration of courtly love. But she did find me a match with a trueborn noble maid, who hasn’t cried even once even though she has gazed at my grotesque face at least three times now.”, the dwarf continued cheerily.  
“How pleasant for you.”, Arianne said, thinking furiously. Was this a reason for prince’s sudden silence? Targaryens had a habit of marrying each other, and the only reason why prince Rhaegar had wedded her aunt Elia was his lack of a sister. She didn’t remember ever meeting the bastard of Starfall. Was she even pretty? Or even a real Targaryen, or a mummer’s dragon? Whatever she was, she was already finding allies from enemies of Dorne, and it would not do. Was this newfound relative the reason why prince Viserys had accepted Lannisters as his allies despite their crimes?   
“Indeed. But not so much for you, I fear.”, the Imp said with a smile. “This way, princess.”

 

\--

 

After their castle had been taken and Shireen’s mother had fled, everything had changed. A part of Shireen felt terrible, like she was betraying her father and their House, but the other part of her could not help but love her captors.   
Shireen no longer had her own chamber. She slept in the nursery with Lyman who was eight, and Deremond who was not yet two. Shireen didn’t mind. The boys were never mean to her. They never looked at her like she was a freak. And it wasn’t so frightening at night because she wasn’t alone. She still had some bad dreams, but they were easier to bear. If she woke up with a bad dream, little Deremond was already climbing in her bed, telling in his little baby voice ‘S’hreen dolly sleep’ and patting her back. She knew she was nothing like a doll, not with the ugly stain running down her face and neck, but it still felt nice.   


But it was princess Rhaella Shireen loved the most. After prince Viserys brought her and the children to Dragonstone, she had asked to see Shireen and hugged her, calling her a cousin. Shireen didn’t remember anyone ever hugging her. It was childish, her father had said, and at ten years, Shireen was old enough to act like a grownup. But princess Rhaella seemed to disagree. She hugged Shireen every morning when they ate breakfast in the nursery and every evening before she tucked her in bed. Lyman and Deremond behaved like it was normal, like things were supposed to be, but it had taken weeks before Shireen had gathered enough courage to hug her back. Princess Rhaella’s grey eyes had lit up with a smile Shireen knew well, it was the smile she had whenever prince Viserys came home, and she had kissed Shireen’s cheek, calling Shireen her sweet girl. It had been the ugly cheek, and Shireen had started to cry.   


Soon after that, prince Viserys had summoned her. She saw him often, because he came to Dragonstone as often as he could and played with the children in Aegon’s garden, but this time he was in the Chamber of Painted Table. He had told her that princess Rhaella had found her a husband whom Shireen would marry when she was a woman grown.  
“He is not a beautiful man.”, prince Viserys had said carefully. “But he is an heir of a Great House, and Rhaella says you have a sweet nature and a heart to love things other people might overlook.  He is already a man grown, but he has been unable to find a wife because of his looks.”  
Shireen had nodded, feeling nervous.  
“Does he know?”, she had blurted. “Does he know that I’m… Does he know about greyscale?”  
“He does.”, prince Viserys had replied. He ran his fingers through his hair, frowning. “Bluntly said, Tyrion Lannister will inherit the Casterly Rock but he’s also a dwarf, and nobody wants to marry a dwarf. His family has tried to find him a wife for years, but nobody would have him.”  
‘Nobody would have him’. It was then when a fragile hope was born in Shireen’s heart. She had always dreaded the prospect of finding a lord husband, knowing that nobody would want her, but an ugly husband would be better than a handsome one. A dwarf could not look down and sneer at her, at least.  
“I understand if you don’t want this match, but honestly, I don’t know if I can do better for you. Rhaella says she will burn Tyrion Lannister if he ever disrespects you, so that’s something.”, prince Viserys had offered.  
“I accept.”, Shireen had said quickly, curtsying. “I accept, if he accepts me.”

  
She had been very nervous when Tyrion Lannister announced his intention to visit Dragonstone, but princess Rhaella had talked to her, telling it would be six years before they would marry.   
“You are my ward, and I won’t push you to a marriage bed before you are a woman grown.”, princess had said firmly. “You must think this as an opportunity to get to know your future husband and find out what he is like. If he is downright terrible, our dragons shall eat him before you are old enough to wed.”  
In two weeks, Shireen had come to a decision that there was no reason to eat lord Tyrion. He was a dwarf, yes, but she had large ears and marred skin. He liked to talk about books, and even though his eyes were different colours, they lit up and looked quite bright when he was enthusiastic about something, like his project to write a book about dragons. He had seemed pleased to find out Shireen liked books, too, and graciously accepted her shy offer to draw sketches for his book.  
“You are good at drawing, while I’m a fine writer; together we shall be match for any maester.”, Tyrion Lannister had said.  
Maybe they could be happy when she grew up, Shireen thought. There was kindness in him, and he never mocked her. He was clever, even though small. He could be good for her. And if he wasn’t, princess Rhaella would tell New Arthur and her baby to burn him. It was good, too.

 

The baby dragon was no longer so little, their wingspan over twenty feet. Skyfire was Arthur’s bright red hatchling, who had hatched when Deremond was born. The dragon tried to follow the boy everywhere, screaming when it couldn’t fit inside the castle. Shireen had heard that there were two eggs somewhere still, but she didn’t know where prince Viserys kept them.

Dragons were flying over Dragonstone now, screeching and screaming and catching fish. Prince Viserys was playing with Deremond who had demanded he should be a knight and Viserys the evil sorcerer who had imprisoned his ladies. Even though Shireen had to sit under a tree in Aegon’s Garden, she didn’t mind. It was nice to play with someone.  
Their dragonknight had just lost his wooden sword to prince Viserys, who threw it in a bush and started to tickle Deremond.  
“It looks like our valiant knight has been struck by a foul spell. I think we might have to wait for our rescue for some time.”, princess Rhaella said, smile making her cheeks rosy. She sat under the tree, neatly patching prince Viserys’ trousers. He wore through a pair every few days, because Arthur’s scales were so sharp.  
“Help! Lyman help!”, Deremond yelled, laughing so hard that his eyes were watering.   
Glancing uncertainly at prince Viserys, who winked at him, Lyman bravely joined the fray.  
“I’m coming, brother! For Darry!”, he shouted a battle cry and lunged at the prince.  
Soon all three were rolling over the ground, tickling each other and the boys were yelling while prince Viserys laughed, shouting marvellously threatening things in a strange gnarly language. Shireen wanted very much to know what it was; Tyrion would surely know. Then she saw Tyrion coming down the arch of Dragon’s Tail and looked pleadingly at princess Rhaella.  
“You can go, Shireen.”, Rhaella said. “Deremond will count it as his victory.”  
She was right, because Deremond let out a blood-curling shriek.  
“I won!! Lyman, we won!”  
“No!! The prisoner escapes!”, prince Viserys yelled. He shook the valiant knights off him and caught princess Rhaella in his embrace.  
“I still have one left.”, he announced to victorious knights. “Do what you may, I’ll never let her go!”,  
Prince Viserys was indeed very good at evil sorcerer voices. Shireen was giggling when she glanced behind her, running towards Tyrion. There were more people coming down stairs.  


“You dropped my sewing!”, Rhaella protested when Viserys caught her. Pulling her with him, they ran across the dark grass and behind the towering thorny hedge. It was ridiculous and stupid and there were little knights running after them. But Viserys was a grown man who knew all the hiding places from his own childhood, and much faster. There was a small hole in the hedge on ground level, just wide enough to fit two. Pushing Rhaella inside, Viserys crawled in behind her.  
“I can’t go any further!”, she whispered when a thorn pricked her back.   
“I’ll have to come closer, then.”, he murmured. “Oh, that is what I shall do. Like a true warlock, I shall lock you in a tower, and do unspeakable things to you.”  
Viserys’ hand sneaked around her waist, pulling her closer until there was nothing but thin layers of wool and velvet between them.   
“I’m terrified.”, Rhaella assured. She loved it when he was happy. His hair was tousled, his face was flushed with laughter and for once, his eyes were carefree and warm in the dim light inside the hedge.  
“Of course you are.”, he said haughtily, adjusting his uncomfortable position. His free hand was caught between them, resting on Rhaella’s breast. She could feel his hand through the velvet, and it burned like a brand.   
“Until my brave knights rescue me”, Rhaella whispered, a moment of recklessness taking her, “I don’t think there is anything I can do except try to please my terrifying captor.”  
She moved her head just a little, and her lips brushed against his. Opening her lips, Rhaella claimed their first kiss. She had only ever kissed her lord husband; Varamyr had not cared about such frivolities.   
It was surprisingly sweet, she thought, light-headed from a sudden crack in her carefully crafted armor of duty and courtesies. If her father the prince had felt like this, she understood why he had hidden in a tower for months. Rhaella never wanted to leave.   
“Do that again, and I will never let you leave.”, Viserys breath was fast and warm against her lips. “By Seven, I swear I will lock you in a tower and keep you there naked until you stop giving me sensible advice and promise to be my queen.”  
“I’m merely a warlock’s prisoner.”, Rhaella whispered. She wound her fingers around the closest branch, and felt it flutter in her hand. It was not a weirwood tree, but she was a greenseer; she could close the hole in the thorny hedge and nobody would ever find them.   
“Your Grace!”, the shouts of her children were accompanied by a male voice, now. Tyrion Lannisters was calling them. “Your Grace, there are visitors from Dorne.”  
“Fuck!”, Viserys cursed, and Rhaella’s heart fell. She let go from the branch, accidentally pricking her finger, and put a brave smile on her face. Viserys looked at her, shaking his head fiercely, and bent closer.  
“Don’t.”, Rhaella whispered. “If you do it now, my heart might break. I was a fool.”  
“No more than I.”, Viserys replied. He twisted in their narrow hiding place and started to crawl towards the light.

\--

 

It was worse than she had expected, Arianne realized when her fiancé appeared from the direction of the thorny hedge, accompanied by a young girl who was barely old enough to be a woman grown. If the bastard of Starfall was a mummer’s dragon, she was a good one. She was as colourless as Viserys, except the eyes studying Arianne were grey. There was a flock of children around her, and even the bloody Imp was following them.  
“Princess Arianne.”, prince Viserys said in that pinch-lipped way he had. “What brings you to Dragonstone?”  
“We are engaged to be married. My father felt I should be with you when you march to the King’s Landing and take your throne.”, Arianne said.  
“We are still in war, and the Usurper has retreated to Moat Caitlin.”, Viserys said. “You might need to wait for some time. I have no plans to wed before I’m the only king in the realm.”  
“I won’t mind.”, Arianne gave him her best smile. “This will be a perfect opportunity for us to get to know each other.  Who are your companions, if I may ask?”  
“My niece, Rhaella Targaryen, the princess of Dragonstone.”, Viserys said, something hidden and almost angry flashing in his eyes. Arianne looked at the woman, and understood she was going to be a problem. Prince Viserys had given her the title traditionally preserved for a Targaryen heir.  
“Well met.”, the woman said, giving her a small nod like an equal. She didn’t curtsy.  
Viserys offered his hand to a small boy with dark blonde hair and picked him up in his arms.  
“This is lord Deremond Darry, princess Rhaella’s son. As my only living male relative, he is the heir to my crown unless I have children of my own.”, the prince continued introductions. “His brother Lyman, the lord of Darry. Lady Shireen Baratheon, the princess’ ward. And you have already met lord Tyrion.”  
“You are welcome in my house.”, princess Rhaella said courteously. “Whatever you may require, please tell me. King Viserys’ happiness is my main concern, and as his future queen, you are very important to him.”  
“Certainly.”, Arianne said.  
She watched princess Rhaella take back her son from Viserys’ arms and say a few quiet words about seeing the steward. They cut a pretty picture. Two heads of silver white, and a child with dark blond hair. And there were bloody dragons circling above them. She had her work cut out for her. If only she felt the prize was worth it, Arianne thought regretfully.


	17. Dornishwomen and Stark honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianne Martell worries about her engagement and evaluates her opposition.

When Arianne climbed up the stairs of Dragon’s Tail and entered the foyer, a man’s eyes followed her.  
“You are a sight for sore eyes, princess. Viserys is bloody lucky.”, Harry the Heir announced, looking at Arianne Martell admiringly. Arianne smiled, recognizing the lust in the man’s eyes. It was good to see her charm still worked. Seven knew she needed little reassurance.  
  
In a week, Arianne had made little leeway with her dragon prince. He was always courteous, and Arianne could not find fault in that, but prince Viserys showed more affection to his niece’s pet owls than Arianne.  She had invited him to drink Dornish red with her, or even for a stroll in the gardens after he refused to come to her chambers. Her little tryst had just ended catastrophically. Even though Arianne had seen a flicker of lust when she had pressed her breasts against his chest and purred in his ears with her most seductive manner, prince Viserys had suddenly gone frigid and stormed back inside.  
She just couldn’t read him. Viserys couldn’t be eunuch; Arianne had seen a spark of desire in man’s eyes before it vanished and Viserys turned cold, leaving her alone without a word of explanation.  
  
“Lord Harold Hardyng. Or should I call you Lord Paramount?”, Arianne asked huskily.   
“Not yet, but soon. Viserys means to name me the Lord Paramount of Vale after his coronation.”  
“I thought you have been the lord of the Vale for some time, now. I recall you were his earliest supporter.”, Arianne replied. “May I?”  
She took Harry’s cup from his hand and smiled to him over the brim. The wine was too sweet for her taste, but she needed a drink after her failed attempt to seal her engagement. Maybe prince Viserys was one of the men who enjoyed denial? Arianne frowned. But even then, wouldn’t he have said something?  
“The Eyrie was the first victory we took, it’s true. My little cousin Robin, the previous lord, was a sickly boy, but he lasted longer than I expected. The poor bugger had a shaking sickness, and it finally took him.”, Harry shrugged.  
Arianne wondered whether Viserys or Harry had speeded the little lord’s journey to Stranger’s arms. Perhaps. But a child heir was always in danger, and people with shaking sickness rarely lived long.  
“Have you seen prince Viserys?”, Arianne inquired.  
“That man has a sixth sense, I swear.”, Harry groaned. “Every time I try to press my suit, he magically appears out of nowhere, and steals Rhaella before I can get a good word in. Now he’s yelling at her in the Chamber of Painted Table.”  
  
\--

 

“I won’t marry a woman who _mocks_ me!”, Viserys shouted. He grabbed a fiery sunburst made from expensive glass from the Painted Table where it had represented Sunspear and threw it against the wall. Rhaella flinched when the glass broke in hundred little pieces and said carefully:  
“I’m sure princess Arianne didn’t mean to mock you.”  
Viserys whirled around to face him. His hands were fisted on his sides, and he was shaking with rage. But his eyes were what alerted Rhaella. They shone wetly in the candlelight.  
“Viserys…”, she asked. “What is it?”  
He shook his head, his face twisting in a grimace, and his hands opened and closed.  
“Viserys.”, Rhaella called again. “What is wrong?”He sat on the edge of Aegon’s map and looked down, his long hair falling to cover his face.  
“I won’t marry someone who laughs at me.”, he said, sounding raw. “Or mocks me. Do you know how I lost my teeth?”  
“Nobody knows.”, Rhaella said, now feeling worried. Taking care not to step on the glass, she hurried to Viserys, and took his fist between her hands.  
“People think it was in a battle.”, she offered. “Teeth are often knocked loose in a fight.”  
“It was no fight.”, Viserys murmured. “My sister sold me to a slaver. They made me a bloody pleasure slave, thinking a prince would make them a fortune.”  
His fingers uncurled, and caught Rhaella’s hand.  
“I was taught how to be charming. How to lure a man, or a woman in my bed. How to please. Not that I wanted to learn any of it. A dragon is above such things. And now Arianne Martell is throwing the very same tricks against my face, mocking my disgrace!”, his voice was rising again.  
“I’m sure it was not her intention.”, Rhaella pleaded. “Viserys, nobody knows. Even I didn’t know, and if people spoke such things about your past, my birds would have heard it.”   
“Would you have told me if they did?”, Viserys asked, still clinging to her hand.  
“Of course I would tell you. The only reason why I keep the birds is to help you.”, Rhaella said. “You have always protected me. You told me that Varamyr was of no consequence, and you were right. You taught me that dragons are above such things. And you are a dragon, Viserys.”  
“Am I?”, he asked, his eyes still shining suspiciously wet.  
“You are.”, Rhaella assured. “You are my king. The king Arianne Martell wants to marry. It was only a misunderstanding. She doesn’t know you, but I’m sure she only tried to please you. Dornish are known for their free affections. She doesn’t know what happened to you and didn’t mean to mock you. Why would she? You are going to marry, and no woman would wish to insult her lord husband. Arianne Martell only wanted your affection.”  
It hurt, how it hurt to say those words, but Rhaella believed they were true.  
“When people don’t know each other well, mistakes happen. I’m sure she only wished to please you.”  
Viserys’ hands were open now, but he was still not looking at her.  
“You must forgive her, Viserys. I can’t bear it if you are unhappy with your lady wife. You have been through so much, and it’s a heavy burden you are taking when you sit on the Iron Throne. You must forgive her. Everyone makes mistakes, and this was not intentional. If you just give your lady wife a chance, a love will surely grow between you in time. Promise me, Viserys.”, Rhaella begged.   
He shook his head again and lifted up his head. Rhaella saw tears of anger and embarrassment glistening on his cheeks before he pulled her in a hug.  
“If only she was more like you.”, Viserys said.  
“I will speak to her.”, Rhaella murmured against his shoulder, not certain how she would get through that discussion. But love was a cruel feeling when a crown was concerned.

 

\--

 

Next morning, Arianne received an invitation to break her fast with princess Rhaella. The princess had made herself scarce after their initial introduction; when Arianne had inquired about her, prince Viserys had replied that his niece’s duties and her children kept her busy. Privately, Arianne wondered if it was true. With Targaryens, one could never be certain if their reclusiveness was a personal choice or a royal command to hide family madness. She didn’t remember any rumours about bastard of Starfall exhibiting that family trait, but it had been years since Ashara Dayne died and her brother had taken the child away from Dorne.  
“I want you to appear meek, humble and quiet.”, she demanded from Elia. “No precious remarks, no burst of anger, you won’t ask the princess if you can joust with her knights.”  
“Like you jousted with Darkstar yesterday evening?”, Elia asked cheekily.  
Arianne’s eyes darkened.  
“What I just told you? Meek, humble and quiet, Elia, otherwise I’m sending you back to Dorne. Not a word from you, not a word more!”  
The girl nodded sullenly. A grey and brown housecat purred, rubbing it’s fur against Elia’s leg.  
“Where did that cat come from? You’ll get hairs on your dress. Take it away and brush the hair off. Remember your task is to watch and learn and be quiet. Not a word of Ser Gerold or any of it. This is not home, Elia, and a breakfast with a princess is a fight as certainly as any tournament.”

 

 

Princess’ collection of children had grown since their last meeting. A brown-eyed boy was sitting uncertainly on the edge of his chair. His clothes looked homespun, Arianne noted. She also noticed that the little Targaryen boy was making a racket demanding a sweet bun, flashing brilliant smile at disfigured Baratheon girl while trying to steal hers. Arianne found herself warming up for the youngest. He might be a rascal, but a charming one. A pity his great-uncle was not cut from the same tree.  
“No, Deremond.”, his mother said sternly. “Everyone gets one bun. You will not have two just because you ate yours before lady Shireen finished hers. Knights do not steal sweet buns from ladies.”  
She slapped his fingers and handed the bun back to lady Shireen.  
“I could give it to him.”, lady Shireen said.  
“No, you can’t.”, princess Rhaella ruled. “I know you like sweet buns, and Deremond can’t have everything he wants. Otherwise he will grow up spoiled.”  
“I want!”, the Targaryen boy opened his blue eyes wide, looking tearfully at his mother. They were as fine crocodile tears as Arianne had ever seen.  
“We can’t always have what we want.”, princess said firmly. “A lord can’t steal from his bannermen. He can only ask for what is necessary, and always treat them with respect. Now apologize lady Shireen for trying to steal her bun.”  
“I’m sorry, Shreen.”, the little dragon murmured.  
The bun problem solved, the princess addressed her children:  
“I have guests, so you must go and feed my birds. Shireen don’t let Deremond to give owls too much grain. After you have fed the birds, Maester Cressen will see you in his classroom and Lyman—”  
“I will bring Deremond back here.”, the brown-haired boy promised.  
Princess smiled and kissed his forehead.  
“Thank you, Lyman. You all must take a good care of Stannis, it’s his first day away from home and many things will be new to him. Now off you go!”  
The children scattered noisily, and a servant moved to clean up the table.  
“I’m sorry you had to wait.”, the princess apologized sincerely to Arianne.  
“I didn’t mind. It was interesting to see you are gathering up Baratheon supporters here.”, Arianne noted.  
“The bannermen of Dragonstone are few, and House Seaworth is one of Stannis’ staunchest supporters since he established them after the rebellion. The lord and his five oldest sons are still accompanying Stannis in the north. He left his wife and two youngest in Cape Wrath. Stannis Seaworth is seven and his little brother Steffon is six.”, Rhaella explained.   
“They would have thought you cruel if you had taken both, and one little boy alone must lean on his friends much more than if he had a brother to support him.”, Arianne replied. “A shrewd decision.”  
Rhaella frowned, and Arianne laughed.  
“Your habit of gathering children is no different than what has worked for my family in the Water Gardens for years.”, Arianne replied. “The Martell bride who started it was a dragon, too.”  
“Come this way, please.”, princess Rhaella motioned Arianne and Elia.  
She walked past the messy table, opening a door to next chamber. It looked Dornish, Arianne noticed with slight surprise. There were plenty of soft pillows and airy silk blinds in colours of desert. The small table was set so they could sit on the pillows to eat.

 

Apparently, the topic of the day was the prince.

“Viserys can be charming, when he wants.”, Rhaella began. “He is intelligent man who can make do. I think it was how he got through all those years when he wandered in Essos with his sister. He is very mindful of his duty, and I believe he will be a good king. He puts the realm before his own wishes, and life has taught him to be careful with his trust.”  
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”, Arianne murmured. She had not yet decided what to make of this dragon princess.  
“It’s a role he can perform very well, but it tires him. He becomes a bit sharper, more tired, more stubborn, and then throws a tantrum for whatever reason comes to his way. It’s a lot of noise, but he can be calmed down and made to see sense with carefully chosen words.”, Rhaella peeled an orange. “He’s stuck on the thought of Iron Throne, and terrified of failing three hundred years of dead men. It weighs on him heavily. When Viserys gets angry, he can say most hurtful things. He knows it but can’t quite bring himself to apologize with words. His apologies are always something else than words, and you need to learn how to recognize them. A hug, perhaps. Most often it’s a gift, as grand as he can get.”   
“Why?”, Arianne asked, facing her. “Why should I go through all that? Marriage is an alliance of two Houses, and no woman should not be expected to become a master of whisperers to have an apology from her husband.”  
“With any other man, it would be true, but a marriage to King is never equal.”, Rhaella stated. “The lord of Seven Kingdoms must worry and care about his realm first, and his family comes after that. A queen must understand it, and support the king, so he may rule well.”  
Rhaella put down the orange she had been peeling and continued in cool, firm manner:  
“You can choose between being a princess in Dorne or the king’s wife here. If other six kingdoms cared about a woman’s birth right, _I_ would be the one to sit on the Iron Throne. But Viserys is the King, and you must do your very best to be a good wife for him. You must put Dorne behind you and learn to be what he needs you to be. Dornish customs will only be held against you. A queen is expected to be a maiden, and you’re not. You must not fling it against his face.”  
Arianne was shocked. He had gone to his _niece_ to _complain_?  
“Who are you to judge what Arianne does with her prince? A King’s Hand, or his septa?”, Elia asked sharply.  
“I’m the best ally you can have in this court, because I’m the only person who cares whether Viserys will be happy in his marriage.”, Rhaella said stoically. “He does not think these matters like Dornish do, and neither will Lannisters or Tyrells when we reach King’s Landing. I would suggest sending both Ser Daemon Sand and Ser Gerold Dayne back to Dorne.”  
Ser Daemon Arianne could understand. She had been young, and not cared much about what people said about her. But she had always been very, very careful about Darkstar. Their last tryst had been over three years ago… Unless one counted yesterday. But Arianne had known the risk and made certain nobody could notice anything amiss. How? Rhaella knew, but how?  
“Did you bribe the servants, then? Do you invite people here to spy on them in their private rooms?”, Elia was furious, and Arianne wanted nothing but cut her tongue there and then. The fool child was confirming what must have been only a doubt!  
“It is my duty to know anything which might endanger Viserys’ rule, and one of them is the legitimacy of our dynasty. Seven Kingdoms have learned from Cersei Lannister’s fate. The paternity of Viserys’ children must never be in doubt. The wedding will be postponed until next year.”, Rhaella stated. Her eyes had a glint of cold steel. Oh, Arianne finally had her measure, now. There was a Stark hiding behind that soft face of a child-woman, a Stark with rigid ideas of honor and a cold will to uphold it for her king even if he personally fell short of the ideal. Ned Stark had done it for _his_ king for years, keeping Robert in check. Viserys’ little niece might look like a dragon but inside she was all direwolf. There would be no negotiations, no understanding, no discreet agreements to look the other way. Rhaella Targaryen would make Arianne’s marriage a frozen hell of propriety.  
Rhaella folded her hands neatly on her lap, addressing Arianne:  
“Will you see to the arrangements, or should I help you to find a ship for your knights? And your cousin, too, unless she learns to guard her words better.”  
Glancing at Elia, Arianne said sweetly:  
“Her poor mother must miss her fiercely. Of course I’m sending her back home.”

 


	18. A candle to light your way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaella tells Viserys the truth about Brynden Rivers. Elia flirts with a young man and is persuaded to prove her courage. Shireen makes a difficult choice.

“The war is taking too long.”, Viserys paced across the floor, looking anxious. “Tywin said that if the Usurper and his dog retreat behind the Neck, we might never be able to smoke them out. The supply lines will be too long, and I will never gain the goodwill of the nobles if I expect them to fight for years.”  
He drew his fingers through his hair, shaking his head.  
“All my allies except Harry are fair-weather friends. Tyrells turned against Renly Baratheon and now their army is sitting in King’s Landing, claiming they are holding it for me, but how long their word will be true? That House has always been ambitious, and if I give the roses time to grow roots there, prying them out will cost me. I don’t know if Margaery Tyrell would be any better as a queen than Arianne Martell, and I don’t know Tyrell sons well enough. I don’t want to do this, but I’m running out of choices. I have to win this war….”  
Rhaella’s needle stopped for a moment, and she looked at Viserys.  
“What do you need from me?”, she asked, putting her sewing down. She was repairing the leather patches on Viserys’ trousers. Arthur’s spikes and scales were hard on clothes.  
“I don’t want to ask it.”, he snapped.  
“You are my King. I would do anything to help you.”, she said steadily. By Seven, she hoped it wasn’t a Tyrell man. Viserys had shown her much consideration allowing her to grieve lord Raymun in peace, but it had been over a year, now. Rhaella had known this would come up sooner or later.  
He looked at her, his expression becoming uneasy.  
“I know.”, Viserys said. “That is why I don’t want to ask this, but I have to. When I found you in the north, Varamyr told me that you had gone to the trees. There were roots growing through your hands. How can a living person stay still long enough to have a tree grow through her?”  
Watching her with careful eyes, Viserys continued:  
“You told me that Brynden Rivers had killed Arthur Dayne to wake up a dragon, but the only man called Brynden Rivers was one of the Great Bastards. I can’t imagine Arthur losing to a man over a hundred, a skinchanger or not. Why Arthur took you to north, Rhaella? What happened there? Can you do more than see through the eyes of animals?”  
Rhaella’s heart skipped a beat. Anything else, she would have done in a heartbeat, but this? She could almost taste the bitter paste in her mouth, and she felt sick.  
“There was a prophecy. Prince Rhaegar…”, Rhaella began haltingly.  
“Of course.”, Viserys scowled. “ _Of course,_ he would. My perfect brother.”  
“Arthur Dayne told me that Brynden Rivers had sent notes to prince Rhaegar. He knew things nobody should have known. Arthur said Rivers warned prince Rhaegar about King Aerys’ affliction before it manifested.  Rivers told the prince that he had a weapon to pass on to the Prince Who Was Promised, and he would give it to third child of the prince. If the child had the First Men blood like Rivers.”  
“I almost prefer the version where Rhaegar was madly in love with lady Lyanna.”, Viserys muttered.  
“Arthur thought it was the Dark Sister, but Brynden Rivers had no weapon. He was the weapon. A greenseer. A skeleton sitting on a weirwood throne under a hill.”, Rhaella’s voice trembled. Her voice sounded oddly distant in her own ears, and her breathing was coming too fast, yet there was not enough air. “He was half dead, but still alive. There were roots growing from the hole where his eye was supposed to be, and his voice sounded like he had forgotten how to speak. There were spotted creatures, not human, who killed Arthur when his back was turned. They killed him with obsidian daggers and sorcery and hung him upside down from a ceiling and his blood started to drip on the floor, making an awful sound. The Children made a paste from weirwood leaves and Arthur’s blood and I tried to run, but there were more chambers and more dead men and some of them tried to open their mouths to speak to me...”  
“Rhaella? Rhaella!”, Viserys’ face loomed oddly in her vision.  
“...and the creatures caught me and forced me to eat him. Ladies don’t eat things made from other people! They don’t! The taste was bitter at first, like blood and then it was sweeter and sweeter, and I didn’t want to like it! It was wrong, _all wrong_ , and I wanted to kill them all and myself, too, but I couldn’t because I’m not a Visenya, I’m just a disappointment because I’m not brave enough and prince Rhaegar died for nothing and I can’t be the warrior I was supposed to be if I couldn’t even fight spotted creatures which made me eat Arthur’s blood. I could hear the trees whispering in my head and Brynden Rivers smiled, he smiled at me and told me that we were alike, that I was wed to the trees now and I would learn to see everything like he does but I didn’t want to be a skeleton, I _don’t want to be a skeleton_ \--”  
“Rhaella!”, Viserys’ voice snapped sharply, breaking through the darkness which was swallowing her whole. He caught her, and the rest of her words were drowned against his shoulder when Rhaella fought to breathe.  
“You are safe. There are no weirwood trees here.”, he told her in a strict voice of the king. “You are safe. I saved you, and you are mine. I won’t let trees ever have you. I will burn the Usurper and his army if I must to win this war, but you are not to go anywhere near a weirwood tree. I’m not my brother, who was willing to do whatever he felt necessary. There are limits a man should not cross, limits he must keep because otherwise we would be no better than barbarians, and sending his own child to parlay with undead monster for an obscure weapon is beyond any reason I can grasp. I’m not a prince who was promised, but I know my duty, and I will never let anyone hurt you again.”

She wept desperately, staining his doublet. His grip on her was steady, and firm. Few things in her world had been constant. But Viserys was not a Rhaegar. He was not a perfect prince. He was often tired, he had a temper, but he was stubborn like nobody else when he decided on something and she loved him for it. She had always wanted to be the most important person to someone, to be loved and cherished and protected, and he had given her all that from the moment they met. But now Rhaella had to give him to Arianne Martell who didn’t even care enough not to lay with other men during their courtship. It was unfair! It was so unfair! It was the most unfair thing she had ever came across in her seventeen years, and Viserys was blind to true source of her grief.

“It’s not your fault my brother died. If Rhaegar absolutely had to have a third child, he could have arranged it in much more reasonable manner than stealing someone else’s bride and hiding for months. I admit it was my father who burned the Starks, but if Rhaegar had picked a scullery maid for a paramour, Elia would have looked the other way and I would never have been sold into slavery by my own sister.” Viserys added, sounding offended.  
“Did you ever go back to see your sister?”, Rhaella asked, trying to wipe her eyes and calm down.  
“No. What would I say? I don’t know how to apologize. I don’t want to see her face and hear her justifications for selling me. I would get angry, like I always do, and things would become worse than they already are.”, Viserys’ voice was gruff. “It’s better this way. Safer. She learned to love the savage she married, and Khal Drogo has forty thousand men standing between her and any danger she might face. Daenerys doesn’t need me for anything.”  
“I need you.”, Rhaella said. Her head was starting to hurt, and she felt fragile after crying so much. “I will always need you, and I don’t want you to marry Arianne Martell.”  
Rhaella reached blindly towards him, and Viserys caught her.  
“Do you mean it?”, he asked. “Do you truly mean it?”  
Someone knocked at the door.  
“Princess Arianne wishes to see you, Your Grace.”, a guard called loudly.  
“I do.”, Rhaella said helplessly. “I know it’s unwise, and it’s the last thing you should do, but I just can’t do this anymore.”  
Viserys said in low, quiet voice:  
“I try to find a way out of this, Rhaella. I will come to you tonight. Unlock the trapdoor.”  
She nodded quickly, wiping the remains of tears from her face, and trying not to blush. Straightening her dress, she hurried towards the door and knocked on it, waiting for a guard to let her pass.  
When she stepped outside Viserys’ solar, the princess of Dorne was waiting on the other side. Arianne Martell’s dark eyes didn’t miss the obvious signs of crying – Rhaella despaired being so fair, it made her look horrible and splotchy every time she wept – or the burning blush on her face when she hurried past the princess, unable to look at her.

 

\--

Elia was sulking. She knew she had no business in weathered little inn located at the end of the stone pier of Dragonstone harbour, but she would not go back to the castle and sit in the nursery like a child while Ser Daemon looked for a ship. Darkstar wasn’t looking; he was chatting up one of the maids. On an island full of dragon seeds, his looks made him look like a local.  
Elia had ordered a drink, but she wasn’t fond of beer. If it was brewed here, it probably tasted like shit. The sweet water on the island smelled like rotten eggs even though the castle servants claimed it tasted fine. But she was a woman flowered, almost grown up too - just two measly years – and Seven only knew that she would never get anywhere near a tankard after Arianne shipped them back to Dorne. Arianne had been so angry at her– Elia didn’t get why, she had only tried to defend Arianne and it was not fair to get blamed for that!  

She had tried to make amends and try to help Arianne by offering clumsily all kinds of brooches and chains from a jewellery box while her cousin dressed up in pink and purple silks. Elia had even tried to help Arianne curl her hair, even though she could have spent that time trying to chat up the stablemaster and find out whether there were any decent horses for jousting.  
“Do you think there will be a tournament when you and prince Viserys wed?”, she had asked, mind far away from this cold, wet island.  
“There won’t be a tournament, because there will be no wedding.”, Arianne had said. “I can’t marry him.”  
“What?”, Elia had squeaked.  
“You were there. You heard the princess. According to her rules, being the queen of Seven Kingdoms is only a little better than becoming a septa. Why would I want to live like that?”, Arianne asked sharply. “Dorne is my birth right. I can rule in my own name. Why would I give up my kingdom to become someone who must never speak her own mind, or keep the company of people she likes, yet she is expected to spend her days nurturing a toothless king who rages and never apologizes?”  
“He is a king. Oberyn signed a treaty.”, Elia said, feeling suddenly helpless. This was not supposed to happen! If Arianne bailed out because of her slipup, uncle Dorian would bury Elia in sand and honey and let desert ants eat her toes!  
“I could put up with Viserys if Rhaella wasn’t there. She runs Viserys’ life as ruthlessly as this castle, and she will reign in his court unless I can persuade him to marry her off somewhere far. The North, perhaps, or the Iron Islands? Essos?”

“You aren’t fond of your beer, are you?”, a dark, handsome young man sat in Elia’s table. “It tastes like piss here. Even more sour than your Dornish wines.”  
“True.”, Elia said. “But you shouldn’t mock Dornish wine to a Dornishwoman. I might draw my knife and stab you.”  
“Oh, I have heard of that.”, the man said with a sly smile. “They say that Dornishwomen bare their breasts when they fight. You may try to stab me, if you wish.”  
Elia scoffed, for appearance’s sake. Not that anyone cared around here, she realized. Darkstar was busy drinking and nobody else in the inn wasn’t interested in a girl sitting in the corner table. And he was handsome, lean and dark. Arianne would not like this, but Arianne had bedded Ser Daemon when they were as old as Elia now, and she wasn’t here to nag. Elia’s mother wasn’t here, either, and her father would not judge her; she could have a bit of fun before she was shipped back to Dorne in disgrace.  
“I should at least know your name before I stab you. I am Elia.”, she smiled.  
“Theon.”, the young man offered. “Have you ever tasted rum, sweet Elia? Every sailor’s haunt is bound to have it, and unlike beer, it doesn’t smell of brimstone.”  
He offered his own cup, and Elia took a careful sip. The liquor was strange and heady, sweet like a fruit ripened in Dornish sun, but it had a fiery aftertaste which burned on her tongue and made her cough. If passion had a flavour, she thought while blinking off water from her eyes, it would taste like this.  
“I like it.”, she said, wiping the water off her eyes and throwing her black braid over her shoulder, attempting to appear fierce. “It’s the first good thing I’ve tasted on this rotten island. Why they don’t serve rum in the castle?”  
Theon smirked.  
“Like I said, it’s sailor’s drink.”, he noted. “You can have my cup, I’ll order myself another. I have never seen the castle up close. Is the new lord a seafarer?”  
“Him? Prince Viserys spends all his time staring at the map in his tower.”, Elia huffed, taking a big gulp to show off that she wouldn’t cough every time.  
“The princess, then?”, Theon wondered. “Is she as beautiful as they say?”  
“If one likes Valyrian looks, I guess she is.”, Elia said reluctantly. “But Rhaella is a terrible bitch. Arianne hopes to marry her off to Iron Islands or North, some Seven forsaken place far away where she would stop meddling in our business.”  
“Truly?”, Theon’s smile was a bit sly, but he was looking at Elia very intently, and it was flattering. “I fear there are no northern lords here, and ironborn follow the Old Way. They take their rock wives from Iron Islands, and salt wives where ever they see a fair maiden. But one could make an exception for a princess.”  
His talk of salt and rock meant nothing for Elia.  
“What do you mean?”, she asked annoyedly.  
“I might know someone who might help you.”, he said, moving his chair closer and leaning in to whisper. She shivered when his short beard touched her ear.

 --

Rhaella had a bad headache from crying too much, and she asked Rosie to put the children to their beds. Her thoughts were in disarray, and she didn’t want the children to see her looking so dishevelled. All of them were too familiar with war and change, and Rhaella didn’t know what to say if they asked what was wrong.

Dragonstone had baths near the dragon hatchery, where the heat of the volcano kept the water hot around the year.  Her children claimed it smelled, but Rhaella had spent so many years with a tiny dragon tangled in her hair or hiding under her hood that her nose no longer categorized the scent as unpleasant. New Arthur smelled like fire, smoke and brimstone. Viserys did, too.  
Viserys. An unwanted spark of hope and longing burned in her belly when she sank in the water. She did not know what he would say to Arianne Martell. She didn’t want to, because in her heart Rhaella believed Viserys would always choose Iron Throne first. He might love her, she was certain he did, but their lives had been ruined by Rhaegar and Lyanna. If Arianne Martell said no, if she demanded a crown as her price for the Dornish alliance, Rhaella would have no other option than to stay behind when Viserys left to King’s Landing.  
It was no use to think about it before he came to tell her, she told herself. It was what Haggon would have said. Foolish girl, stop worrying over things beyond your reach.

When Rhaella returned from the baths, someone had been in her room. There was a candle burning on the small balcony facing the sea. The lone flame looked beautiful against the dark, so she let it be. She lit another candle and barred her door from the inside. If everything went well, a hopeful silly voice inside her dreamed, and Viserys came to her with good news, she would not want any cats or rats or anyone to see them. Arianne Martell might have overlooked Whiskers, but as a greenseer Rhaella had a very strict rules for her privacy. No people, no animals, and no weirwood trees, living or furniture.  
Rhaella’s bedchamber in Dragonstone had once belonged to her namesake. Queen Rhaella’s room was close to the nursery, and it had a secret pathway leading down to little harbour hidden inside the Dragonstone mountain. Viserys had told her how he had carried new-born Daenerys down those stairs to flee with Ser Willem Darry and Arthur Dayne before the garrison would turn against them. The lord’s chamber had a secret passage, too, leading to two directions. The first path would take him to caves where the dragons slept, and the second path led to same harbour. Targaryens of old had not been trusting, and the passageways could only be opened from inside the room.  
Rhaella pushed the big black dresser closer to the balcony, and then knelt down to press her hand against the eye of faded red dragon mosaic. The floor moved beneath her hand, quickly sliding away to reveal a dark staircase below. Viserys said that whatever magic their ancestors had left in the walls of Dragonstone had became stronger after dragons returned. When he had used this as a child, the tiles had barely moved, and the knights had to pry them apart. Rhaella didn’t understand how it worked, but she had never been one called to solve mysteries. Brandon Rivers had wanted to learn magic, and he had ended up half-dead skeleton.  
Rhaella shivered, firmly pushing the thought away. She didn’t want to think about Brynden Rivers, or she would start to cry again, and it would not do. It was bad enough that Viserys had already seen her crying. Arianne Martell would not look red and splotchy if she cried. Rhaella was certain of it. The Dornish princess had a lovely olive complexion, and the most beautiful gowns. Rhaella’s clothes were in Darry, probably burned by Usurper’s men, and she had to make do with what she had sewed herself from Selyse Florent’s wardrobe, since she didn’t feel it was right to ask for nice fabrics in a wartime. Lady Selyse did not have an eye for clothes, and her dresses were not nice at all.

She put on the prettiest nightshirt she had and sat in front of her vanity to brush her hair for one hundred strokes to make it shine. But after eighty or so, Rhaella began to feel too tired to stay up and wait for him. The dark was already falling, and she was tired after a very trying day. Surely Viserys would not mind if she slept a bit while waiting for him. The staircase was open, and the door to corridor was barred; everything was ready. Putting the hairbrush down, Rhaella crawled in her bed and dreamed of her prince waking her up with kisses like any seventeen-year-old would.

 --

“Are you coming or not?”, Stannis Seaworth hissed at Shireen, who sat in her bed. Deremond and Lyman slept in their beds.  
Shireen couldn't answer. Elia Sand, princess Arianne’s handmaiden who had barely said two words to Shireen before, had returned to castle only an hour ago smelling of rum. Shireen was wary of drunk people, because they often said hurtful things to her. Her lord father had always said that drunkenness was a sign of weak nature.  
Elia had slipped a note in Shireen’s hand when she passed her in the corridor. Shireen had hidden in a privy closet to read it. Even there was no signature, she recognized her lord father’s stern handwriting.

_Go to Maester Cressen after night falls. A ship waits for you. Tell no one but Davos’ boy._

She didn’t know what to do. It was wrong not to obey her lord father. But she didn’t want to leave. It was nice at Dragonstone, now. She had friends now, first time ever, and she had not yet finished her drawings for Tyrion’s dragon book. He could not finish his book without her, he had told her. It didn’t feel right to abandon her work. Besides People would say cruel things about Tyrion, claiming Shireen had ran off because he was a dwarf, even though he had not deserved them. Her family was in war against Lannisters and Targaryens, and if she went back to her father and King Robert killed Tyrion, Shireen didn’t think she would find another husband whom she would like as much. 

It was also wrong to betray one’s oaths, Shireen bit her lower lip muddling over the difficult issue. She had sworn loyalty to prince Viserys and knelt in front of him when he had taken the castle, because she was the highest-ranking noble left in Dragonstone and maester Cressen had explained that the household would have been put to sword otherwise. Shireen’s father had always said that one should take oaths of fealty very seriously. She had not sworn any oaths to Uncle Robert. Had he thought that Shireen would be loyal anyway, or didn’t he care whether she served him or not? Probably the latter, Shireen decided, even though the truth stung. Her ugly face made Uncle Robert uneasy.

She just didn’t want anyone to die. There were guards at the gates, and the nursery was particularly well secured. There were four men to guard the door at all hours. They had fought with Lyman and Deremond’s father in siege of Dragonstone, and even though Shireen knew she was supposed to hate them for taking the castle from her family, Tylar was a nice boy and the rest of the soldiers were friendly, too. They were from Riverlands, and she didn’t want anyone to kill them. Lyman had told her that the Mountain had gotten inside their nursery in Darry, trying to kill them like princess Elia’s children and it had been terrible. He still had nightmares about that, and princess Rhaella had been sick for over a week after Lyman killed the Mountain.

What would princess Rhaella do if Shireen ran off? Prince Viserys would be angry, because Shireen would be an oath breaker. Even if the war ended, she might not see princess Rhaella anymore. Who would kiss her good night, then? Her mother didn’t like kissing her, and Shireen wasn’t sure her father even knew how.  
  
“Are you coming or not?”, Stannis Seaworth was growing upset. He pulled her hand.  
“No.”, Shireen said in a small voice. “Tell them I’m sorry, but I can’t come. I swore an oath to prince Viserys.”  
“You can’t mean it!”, Stannis’ face turned red. “You can’t mean it! Targaryens are evil! Prince Viserys’ father was mad and burned people! My father and yours fight against them, because they are trying to steal King Robert’s throne. We are _hostages_ here.”  
“I’m sorry.”, Shireen said. “But it’s wrong to break an oath. You can go to Maester Cressen if you wish. You haven’t sworn an oath.”  
“Betrayer!”, Stannis hissed, and turned his back at her. He walked through the door, and Shireen heard him telling the guards that he had a stomach ache and needed to see Maester Cressen.  
Shireen sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She had no handkerchief, and it was just water anyway. She would count to one thousand, and then go to prince Viserys to show him the note. She hoped Stannis Seaworth and Maester Cressen would hurry, because Shireen didn’t want them to get hurt. But she had sworn an oath. She hugged her knees, and tried to count silently, so she would not wake up the boys.

 

At one thousand, two hundred and thirty-six, Shireen could not put it off any longer even though she worried. Maester Cressen was old and not fast. She squeezed the note in her hand, hoping Prince Viserys would not burn her alive for letting Stannis Seaworth and Maester Cressen go.  
She pushed open the door, and Ser Tylar looked at her.  
“What is it now? Is no one asleep in there?”, he asked amusedly.  
“I need to see prince Viserys right now.”, Shireen said quietly. “My father wrote to me; I think the Usurper’s men are coming here, and I must speak with prince Viserys at once.”

\--

“We have an agreement, then.”, Viserys said.  
“Yes.”, Arianne nodded. She rolled her stiff shoulders and smiled. “There is the matter of wedding, of course. My father has committed Dornish spears for your cause, and I don’t want to disappoint him.”  
“As soon as the Usurper is dead.”, Viserys promised firmly. He needed the army, but Arianne was right; there was no need to tell the news to everyone just yet. A thought occurred to him.  
“What about Harry? Should I tell him? Or I could simply give an order?”  
“Don’t you dare! It would ruin my fun.”, Arianne slapped his hand lightly.  
It was much easier to like her now, Viserys thought. She was a charming, cunning woman. Poor Harry would not know what hit him. And it was shrewd to evaluate his loyalty. Viserys needed to know the measure of men around him. He leaned back in his chair, just feeling how a weight fell off his shoulders. It would be all right. He would win this war, and everything would be all right.  
“I need to tell Rhaella.”, he said.  
Arianne opened her lips to say something, but then the door was suddenly opened without a warning.  
“I’m sorry, your Grace, for interrupting, but lady Shireen just told me there might be enemies in the castle.”, the young knight said, pushing a small girl in Viserys’ chamber.  
The girl looked like she was going to her own funeral, but she held out a wrinkled note with a shaking hand. Viserys stood up and snatched it.  
“Alert the rest of the guards. Make sure the dragons are safe, and post guards inside the nursery. The Usurper might go after my heir. And find Cressen!”  
“We’re on it, Your Grace!”, Tylar bowed, and started to run.

\--

Tylar was on his way to nursery, when he saw two sworn enemies, Lucas Blackwood and Bracken’s bastard, Harry Rivers trying to break down a door leading to lady Rhaella’s bedroom. Tylar didn’t care if she was a princess, now. To him, she would always be a girl he saved from a river, the same girl who had nagged at him and washed tapestries on the day the little lord was born. She was lord Raymun’s lady, and Tylar would die for her. He drew his sword, and shouted:  
“Get away from my lady’s door or I swear I will run you through!”  
“Get off your high horse and help us! It’s locked from the inside, and she doesn’t answer!”, Harry Rivers yelled back at him.  
“Oh, fuck.”, Tylar panicked. What if something had happened? He had noticed those Dornish looking coldly at his lady, and everyone knew Dornish poisoned people. They even ate soup made from snake venom! She could lie there, dead and poisoned, and what would little lord Lyman say then? Or prince Viserys? Prince Viserys would feed them all to his dragons!  
“Together on third.”, Tylar commanded. He might not be any older as Lucas and Harry Rivers, barely nineteen, but he was a knight, knighted by Lord Raymun himself. “One, two, three!”

When the door broke, and the three young men stumbled in princess’ chamber, the room was empty. There was a gaping hole in the floor where the chest of clothes was supposed to be, and a rope with a grappling hook was hanging from the balcony next to a blown candle. Lady Rhaella’s bed was empty, but there were wet prints of boots all over the floor.  
“Go look if she was taken down the balcony.”, Tylar ordered, and Lucas ran past him.  
“There is nothing but the sea”, the boy yelled.  
Harry was opening the wardrobe door and looking under the bed.  
Tylar peered down the black hole in the floor and descended a few steps to sweep fingers over the first three steps. Why the sea? His heart fell. Lady Rhaella was not a good swimmer, and she would not have left voluntarily. Her struggling might have drowned both the Usurper's man and her. But why there had not been any noise?  
“The stairs are dry here.”, he said. “But we must look in any case. Come!”


	19. A sacrifice, a weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaella learns why Brynden Rivers took Arthur from her.

_Standing in a throne room, she looked up at the dais, and saw a heart tree growing behind the Iron Throne. The white trunk shone in the dim light coming through the windows of painted glass, and the leaves fallen on the empty seat were blood red._  
_Brynden Rivers stood on the other side, a pin of the Hand on his black coat. He walked down the three steps to floor and looked at Rhaella with his one red eye._  
_“Go away!”, she screamed, looking where to flee, but there were no doors._  
_“It’s not I you should fear. You have asked me a thousand times why I did this to you, what was my purpose.  It’s our purpose, Rhaella, a duty which outweighs everything else.”, he said. “You can leave if you wish. But if you do not listen, in twenty years Viserys will be a king over a realm filled with dead bodies. A winter is coming, a winter harsher and longer than in centuries. It will last for a generation, and the cold winds will bring the dead with them.”_  
_“It’s just a tale. Long Night is not true.”, Rhaella resisted._  
_“None less true than the Children of Forest, skinchangers or a man living one hundred and twenty-five years. You know better, Rhaella. Think back.”, he said, and the world melted around them._

 _They were inside Haggon’s hall. Fire was burning high in the fireplace, and Haggon grunted when he lifted the heavy bar to bar the door._  
_“Help me with the table, girl. And tell your lizard to keep his wings closed or they’ll catch fire.”, he ordered._  
_“New Arthur wouldn’t burn. He is a dragon, not a lizard, and he likes being warm.”, Rhaella heard her own, childish voice answer. It felt strange to watch her younger self to climb over the New Arthur and try to lift a table. She could not have been any older than Shireen, Rhaella thought, and her heart hurt. She wished she could pull the child in her arms and take her back to Starfall to avoid all the bad things which would happen if she stayed. Ashara might not have taken her life yet. At ten, she might still have a mother._  
_“You can’t change the past.”, Rivers said at her side. “Seven know I have tried.”_  
_Rhaella glanced at him. A man as old as him would have his own regrets, but Rhaella could not forgive him enough to find compassion for a man who had lured her here and left her to suffer alone. She watched her younger self trying to lift the table with Haggon, feeling a bitter lump in her throat. Three more years, and she would be raped on that damned table before fleeing to the trees, wanting to die._  
_“Haggon.”, she heard her younger self ask. “What is it out there?”_  
_“What is out there is bad enough to make a wolf pull his tail between his legs and rest at a dragon’s side. Believe me, girl, you don’t want to see it.”, Haggon told her grimly._

 _“What is out there is the reason why I took Arthur Dayne from you.”, Rivers remarked._  
_Rhaella looked at her child self and felt so angry._  
_“I’m not stupid!”, she exploded. “If there are monsters outside the house, why in the Seven Hells would I go there? I don’t want to see them, and I’m not coming with you to watch!”_  
_Brynden Rivers blinked. His one red eye looked blank for a moment, and his expression was astonished._  
_“It’s your duty.”, he said. “Your duty to humankind.”_  
_“Why?”, Rhaella screamed at his face. “I’m the princess of Dragonstone, second only to King. My duty is to keep my castle running smoothly, check the books so steward can’t cheat, and give children to my lord husband, who is dead so there will be no more babies. You are not my king. You are not even my father, just an undead deserter who betrayed his vows to Night’s Watch. You have no right telling me what to do!”_  
_“I did not betray my vows, you insolent child! You can’t even imagine what I have given up to—”_  
_“Whatever you gave up, you were a grown man. I was a nine-year-old girl when you ruined my life, and I won’t sacrifice myself for the sake of the humankind, for the realm or whatever pitiful excuse you come up with! I won’t, I won’t, and you can’ t make me. You are almost dead and the only reason why your corpse hasn’t spoiled yet is because it’s so bloody cold up there. Why would I give up my nice castle and my babies to sit in a cold cave and eat paste made from people?”_  
_“The war between the living and the dead is of utmost importance! There must be a Prince Who Was Promised to end the Long Night!”, Rivers raised his voice in anger._  
_“If such person was truly so necessary, and the war was between living and dead, I would expect detailed instructions on how to get one to be carved on the Wall. The dead are not like Tywin Lannister, who can burn every book which sullies his family name to hide his shame from the history, and I can’t see a reason why living people would not want their descendants to keep on living. I think your prophecy is something people just made up to feel important.”, Rhaella said practically._  
_She raised her chin stubbornly and crossed her arms over her chest._  
_“Besides, how can I tell if you are even real? This is just a bad dream, and when I wake up, I’ll still be in my own bed and everything will be fine.”_  
_Brynden Rivers shook his head, and Rhaella startled awake._

Looking around in the dark, heart beating too fast, she saw the candle on the balcony still burning behind the painted glass window, and a silhouette of someone pulling himself over her balcony rail. It had to be an assassin, surely sent by the Usurper! Would the Usurper have enough money for a Faceless Man? Too terrified to make a sound, Rhaella rolled off her bed. She glanced at the door, cursing herself when she remembered she had barred the door. If the man had a bow, he could shoot her while she tried to lift up the bar. No. Trying to stay low in the shadow of her bed so he would not see her white nightshirt in the dark, she crawled fast on her hands and knees to open trapdoor.

Ancient stone stairs were warm against her bare feet, and she tried to feel wall in the dark, cursing for not having a candle. She had been down here only once when Viserys had shown her the passage, and she remembered the stairs were steep and old, treacherous in the dark.  Rhaella heard the balcony door creaking when the unknown man entered her bedroom, and she put a hand against her mouth to keep herself silent. Screaming would only alert him of where she was. As soon as he began to search for her, he would find the trapdoor and the staircase, and Rhaella needed to find help before she was caught. She ran down the stairs as fast as she dared, praying the Crone that she would not slip and fall down.

She was halfway down the first turn of stairs when he called out to her.  
“You can either stop now or I will stop you with an arrow to your leg. It would be a pity to wound a prize such as you. I’ve never had a princess as a salt wife before.”  
An ironborn, Rhaella grimaced.    
“You can turn back now and slink back to your ship. I’m not yours, and the last man who stole me is dead.”, Rhaella replied.  
“Arthur!”, Rhaella called, reaching towards the familiar presence of the dragon. The hatchery was two staircases away, but inside the same hollow hall carved in the fire mountain’s side. If the ironborn decided to chase her, Rhaella didn’t think she could get down the harbour and then up the other staircase towards Viserys’ rooms and down again to dragons’ lair before he caught her. But she hoped the ironborn did not know that.  
New Arthur was too big to fit through the narrow tunnels, but her voice was not. Upon Rhaella’s desperate plea, the dragon roared in fury which shook the stairs and echoed from the walls of Dragonstone, making the beast sound as large as Balerion the Black Dread. Skyfire woke up and joined his mother in a joyful shriek, thinking this was a game and their humans had come to play. But the ironborn didn’t share Rhaella’s insight to dragons’ mind, and he didn’t call to her again. The dragons roared and screamed, filling the night with their song, Rhaella continued to run. Maybe he had gotten frightened and ran off? She prayed it would be so. Tears of fear were prickling in her eyes, and she wanted Viserys, she wanted her guards and she wanted to see her sons to know they were safe.  
She was almost at the harbour when she saw a light down there. Maester Cressen held a torch, and little Stannis Seaworth was working on the ropes of a small boat. She ran to them.  
“Where are Lyman and Deremond?”, Rhaella asked, a terror gripping her heart. “Where are my sons, and Shireen? Did the ironborn attack the nursery, too?”  
Maester Cressen’s old face looked stricken, and he said:  
“I’m sorry, princess. I don’t know.”  
“If you don’t know, what are you doing here, then? What are you doing here in any case? You aren’t supposed to know there is a harbour here!”, Rhaella demanded.  
“I’m going home, and you can’t stop me!”, little Stannis shouted. Something silver gleamed in his hand. It was the small knife Maester Cressen used to cut herbs.  
“You are ten years old, and the castle is under attack. You are going nowhere but back to your bed. I promised your lady mother to take good care for you.”, Rhaella said sharply.  
“You made Shireen into a traitor, but you won’t make me, you won’t!”, Stannis yelled, and Rhaella raised her arm to block his waving hands.  
At first, she thought he had hit her side. But then she felt something wet on her shirt and saw a red stain. Stannis dropped the knife, looking terrified.  
Maester Cressen’s upset voice was the last thing she remembered before all went dark.  
“You shouldn’t have done it, boy!”

\--

She tried to tell Viserys that he should not mind her death. It would not be a true one. He would only need to bring her true body closer, and she would make the jump, and they could be together always. It didn’t matter if he had to marry Arianne Martell, because she would live hundreds of years longer than any Dornish princess. She was his dragon queen, and they would rule the sky together.

She would be a dragon, fierce and beautiful. A true dragon, like her father the prince had wanted. The thought cradled her through the feverish days, and the pain which burned her flesh when Maester Cressen spread Myrish fire on her side and applied bad-smelling poultices, his old face drawn with despair. With wind beneath her great wings, she sang a song of her love, and burned all ships except the one carrying her dying body to north. It would have made Viserys grieve, because he did not understand she was already there with him. She tried to tell him, but he was too upset to understand her words.

She was not upset. Why would she have been? Soon, she would be the Visenya she was always meant to be. Becoming a dragon stronger and larger and more beautiful than any living creature was far better than staying in a human husk with human fears and failures. She would burn his enemies and win his battles; she no longer feared and her eyes, all three, were wide open now. For him, she would fly to Heart of Winter and burn the Night’s King himself. She was the weapon Three-Eyed-Crow had promised to his father the prince, she was the sword in his hand, she was the sacrifice for the Prince Who Was Promised.  

Fire killed, she knew, and her body was too hot inside. Ice preserved, like darkness.  
“You are finally learning.”, Three-Eyed Crow praised. “The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong.”  
Her ties to her body were so frail now, but she whispered Maester Cressen to blow the candle. She liked to watch in the dark. The trees had seen so much, and some things she treasured over the others.  The weirwood tree of Harrenhall had a memory of dark-haired maiden laughing, and her face was the one she missed desperately enough to be moved in tears.  
“Mother.”, she whispered through parched lips. “Mother, why did you leave me?”  
“She is delirious from infection, my lord. I would not move her, but the Red Woman keeps telling Stannis that burning king’s blood would bring Robert a victory.”, Maester Cressen spoke fast. “You need to leave before they come back.”  
“Mother.”, she called weakly, and hot tears ran from her hurting eyes when a candle was brought closer. It had been so long since she saw a light, and it was harder to hold on the vision of purple-eyed maiden.  
“Mother don’t go!”, she begged.  
Lord Stark’s sad, long face loomed over her. He touched her arm and withdrew instantly.  
“Poor girl. You are burning up.”, he murmured. Pulling a grey cloak off from his shoulders, he wrapped it around her, and lifted her up. He was cold, so cold, and the feel of his icy clothes and armour made her whimper. He carried her out from the small dark cabin, and she hid her face against his chainmail when a group of armed northerners turned to look at her.  
“But…She’s just a slip of a girl. Barely older than my youngest. I expected a real southron lady. The way  King talks about them, I thought she had claws like a harpy.”, a big man with fiery hair and beard said, sounding surprised.  
“You can’t call Lyanna’s girl a harpy, you idiot!”, a female voice snapped.  
“If I’m an idiot, you’re a bear-fucker—"  
“I don’t care about Rhaegar Targaryen any more than you do, but no Red Priest will burn Lyanna’s daughter on my land while I draw breath.”, Ned Stark interrupted harshly. “We need to go.”

\--

  
She did not remember the journey to Winterfell. The coldness gave her moments of clarity, and the dragon dreams gave a way to simpler things. Rhaella remembered a wooden sled, and the cold wind against her face, and the warm furs wrapped around her. She had a small recollection of arriving to a huge castle in middle of snow, and more people staring at her.  
“I’m sorry, my lord. It’s in gods’ hands’ now.”, a man in grey wool robe said, looking the violently red cut below her breast and the darkened veins spreading from it.  
“Weirwood tree. I want go to the tree.”, she whispered, pleading. The cold had made her mind too clear, and Rhaella was afraid to die. New Arthur was too far, and she didn’t want to go into chicken or a dog. If she couldn’t have a dragon for a second life, it would have to be a tree. There was a weirwood tree in Darry, and she _needed_ to see her sons growing up.  
“Nuncle, please.”, she begged weakly. “I don’t want to die inside. I need to go to godswood.”  
Lord Stark’s sad, long face looked even sadder, and his eyes were soft like a falling rain. He looked at his maester.  
“It doesn’t matter where, my lord.”, the man replied to his unvoiced question.  
Lord Stark – nuncle, she had called him – lifted her in his arms again and carried her past a small sept and through the iron gates. Rhaella could already hear the whispers of the heart tree drowning the sad murmurs of northerners, and it soothed her. She would like it here, she thought distantly. Here under canopy of trees, in the dark, she could grow strong.  
The ancient heart tree stood over a black pool of water, and Ned Stark laid her to lay beneath it.  
“Don’t let them take me back inside. I don’t want to leave the heart tree.”, Rhaella said, her fingers weakly curling around a thick white root. She rested her burning cheek against another, and felt a pleasant cold sensation slowly spreading to her body.  
“I promise, Rhaella.”, he said. His voice was thick with emotion, but it didn’t waver. Relieved with his promise, she closed her eyes, and slid inside a tree.

\--

It was a lonely vigil he held in the godswood. Ned Stark had not been there when his sister died, alone in Tower of Joy which should have been named Tower of Grief instead. But when Davos Seaworth pressed a hastily penned letter from Maester Cressen to Ned’s hand, he had gathered his men and ridden to White Harbour as fast as he could. It did not matter to him that Viserys Targaryen had forced their army to retreat behind Moat Caitlin, and Robert wanted his head; a victory would not be bought with innocent girl’s blood. North was Stark land, it had always been theirs, and no red priest would burn people at a stake while he was the Lord of Winterfell.  
He sat quietly, watching Lyanna’s little girl. With the hair, it was easy to see only her father in her features, but the shape of her chin was Lyanna’s, and her hands, too. Ned remembered Lyanna’s fingers, strong and short, better suited to hold a bridle than a harp. Rhaella was not tall, but Starks never were. A small thing laying among the roots of heart tree. Dying from a wound poisoning her blood. He wondered where she had learned to pray the Old Gods, because there were no heart trees in deserts of Dorne. Lord Renly had said she followed both old gods and new,  
His throat constricted with grief. If he had only known sooner. If he had not been fooled. Ashara had almost spelled it out loud to him, that day on the yard when tears had filled her purple eyes when he spoke about taking the dead baby to Winterfell crypts.  
If he had known, things might have been different. Ned Stark did not know the poor girl well enough to tell her thoughts, and he didn’t bear to ask, knowing she might not answer. Her breaths had slowed down after he brought her here. It was not a sleep, but a deeper peace she was falling towards, but her features were serene now, the heat of fever chased away by winds of winter.  
But he would have wanted a kinder fate to Lyanna’s girl than dying here. She was no older than his Robb, barely a woman grown but already a widow. He remembered his shock when he had first seen her in Darry, a child mother with a babe of her own. Too young, he had wanted to howl, too young and alone in the south, just like her poor dead mother. In North, she would have grown up with his children, gotten a childhood not interrupted by power-hungry dragon supporters, and had a family. Sansa would have loved her cousin’s quiet nature, and maybe Arya might have learned to be a little less wild. Girls who were beautiful and wilful, too often died before their time.

Lost in his own thoughts, the lord holding a quiet vigil did not notice the small movement among the roots of the heart tree. A small branch gently pushed between the layers of fur and stained cloth, and the weirwood drank it's first drops of blood after centuries of draught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last one. I originally planned to make a few drabbles on requested topics for epilogue (many of you have wanted to see Daenerys), but this chapter laid a lot groundwork for Others-sequel. I'm not sure if I'd do it, since it would need more asoiaf soap opera instead of boring war and undead things. I'll think about it after I finish Rhaella's happy ending. But now it's the time to start thinking about what would you like for an epilogue.


	20. I take this man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor northern lords are having a confusing day. First they stumble upon a shocking religious experience, graciously arranged by Bloodraven, then they lose their king, and when they gather their courage to make hard demands to Viserys, they end up making him very happy.

The boat was gone, the portcullis of secret harbour had been pulled up and there was a puddle of blood on the stone. His dragons were screaming like madmen, when Viserys knelt to look at the blood.  
He knew whose it was, of course. When the gods had done him any kindness, ever? He had been born in a house which was merely a shadow of past glory after their civil wars, a second son who had not been allowed to see his mother unchaperoned for the fear she might poison him. As his mother would ever had done such thing! His brother had proved himself a fool, and his father had been too short-sighted and trusting, believing himself indestructible. But Viserys knew better. Without power, there would be no safety. There would always be peasants ready to pull down those above them, trying to ruin things they did not understand.  
They did not understand his love. Arianne Martell had been like a cat who had caught the cream when he had allowed her to marry Harry. She didn’t like Rhaella, he thought, feeling her blood grow cold against his fingers. But Rhaella would have been a thousand times better queen than Arianne Martell, because she understood her position and embraced it gladly. Not many Targaryen women were sweet. His sister certainly wasn’t. His mother had been. Most women were either spineless, or they craved power, just like treacherous princess Rhaenyra or Viserys’ equally treacherous sister, and also Arianne Martell, who wanted to hold Dorne in her own name and saw a happy fool in Harold Hardyng, lord of the Vale. She would undoubtedly demand they would follow Dornish laws of inheritance, and attempt to reduce Harry into mere consort, ruling the Vale in his name until prince Dorian died. But Viserys didn’t care about that. Why should he warn his friend, when Harry was all too eager to throw himself to be devoured? Arianne Martell had to marry someone, and Viserys did not want to be that man.  
He knew the Usurper had taken Rhaella from him, because she was the only person in his life, he still had who was worth stealing. Viserys had been well educated in his family’s bloody history; even if Robert Baratheon had only a drop of dragon blood through a female line, of course he would take the one who was the most precious. It was what Targaryens always did, and what Viserys would have done.  
He stood up. He did not know what would become of him. He was all too aware that he had too many sharp edges without her. His own pride held him too tightly, and he needed her gentle words and cajoling to have a reason to do the right thing when his fear of being laughed at was too sharp and harsh to retreat. Some men were like that. Tywin Lannister was another like him. Viserys had known his grim Hand long enough to know that if he became a man like Tywin, he would be only a shadow of a good king he could be. But there was no goodness in him without her, because he could only be merciful when she asked it from him. It was not losing face when he did it for her. He still had that fear of being ridiculed, being laughed at, and the weight on his shoulders which sometimes felt it was going to crush him. She made him better, and he needed her. How could he bear all those foolish, thoughtless ancestors of his otherwise? They had lived recklessly, loved without a thought, and killed all their dragons, leaving him to gather up the broken remains of their dynasty and try to keep his head high while people laughed. Without Rhaella, pride would be all he had left.  
“Send a message to lord Tywin’s camp at the Neck. Have him send a messenger to Moat Cailin and inform the Usurper that I will burn every ship on their harbour and burn every warehouse filled with food in North. Send a word to Velaryon fleet. They must block the passage to White Harbour and allow no ship through. Winter is coming, like Starks like to say, and they can either bend the knee and denounce the Usurper or starve in their castles.”, Viserys said.  
Tyrion’s mismatched eyes flashed.  
“I’m sure my father will like your orders.”, he said glibly. “He admires intelligence and ruthlessness. Not so much in dwarves, much to my misfortune.”  
“Put them both to work and start thinking a proper punishment for people responsible for this.”, Viserys said. “I can’t let it become known that a fourteen-year-old bastard girl serving my bride conspired to steal the princess of Dragonstone from her own bedchamber. I want you to deal with this in such a way that nobody will ever dream of doing anything like that ever again.”  
Tyrion nodded.  
“What about Shireen?”, he asked.  
“I have not quite decided whether she is a traitor or not.”, Viserys replied tightly. ”She sidestepped her oath of fealty too closely to my liking. Coming to me was right thing to do, but if she had come at once and not waited to give Maester Cressen and Seaworth boy a chance to escape, I could have ended all this by sending them to the Wall. I won’t forgive her for Rhaella. The girl is your concern; use your own judgement as long as it teaches her to be firmer in her loyalty and doesn’t reflect too negatively on me.”  
“You place quite a lot of trust in me.”, Tyrion said.  
“Your father is an old man. I promised to take him as my Hand, and I shall keep that oath, but I am old enough to remember whose army sacked King’s Landing and killed my brother's wife and children. Tywin has failed my House once already. You haven’t, yet.”, Viserys said, watching Tyrion closely. “Keep it that way, and I will see that no uncle, nephew or an unexpected baby brother inherits Casterly Rock when your father is dead. Dwarf or not, I believe in giving my subjects what is rightfully theirs.”  
“I believe we have an understanding, Your Grace.”, the dwarf murmured, making a bow.

Viserys left the harbour which was secret no longer and climbed up the stairs to his bedchamber to find warmer clothes. The Usurper’s army was north; if Rhaella still lived despite the blood loss, he would find her there. The air above clouds was always cold, and a dragon rider needed to dress warmly.  
When he opened his wardrobe, he realized his hand was still wet with blood. Tyrion had not said a thing. It was one of the questionable benefits of being the Mad King’s son; nobody ever drew to his attention when he was acting strangely, and even if he wasn’t, people would still talk and look at him warily.  
Before Stannis Baratheon, his brother Rhaegar had lived here. People still spoke of his brother. How marvellous he had been, how sad, how beautiful, how splendidly he had played a harp or how fine warrior he had been. Viserys owned no black armor decorated with rubies. Unlike his famous brother, he had never been much of a swordsman. Training with Arthur Dayne had given him his first taste of inadequacy. He promptly silenced the thought and reminded himself that even if Rhaegar had been a winner of a tournament and a knight, Viserys was a dragon rider. He did not need a sword. A shovel had served him just fine before he even had a dragon. If the Seven Kingdoms had more people using shovels to do honest work and less people using swords, they all might be better for it.  
There would be no honourable duel against the Usurper. Growing up, Viserys had heard a thousand times how Rhaegar had fought honourably, how Rhaegar had fought nobly. But Rhaegar had died, and Viserys would not. They could call him dishonourable, but he would sweep down on a dragon, and burn the Usurper to ashes. He had hesitated too long, not wanting to be painted with black, and Rhaella bled for it. From this moment on, Viserys decided he would not care if people said he was mad. He would be the King, and he would make the Usurper pay.

\--

“Oh, bloody hell.”, Lord Umber’s curse was soft and astonished. His shock was mirrored on the faces of northern lords who stood around the heart tree of Winterfell.  
The ancient eyes of the weirwood tree watched them, and the mouth was still the same, but the branches had moved. They were old and strong, thicker than a man’s leg and as unyielding as the winter itself. Yet Lyanna Stark’s little girl sat on a weirwood throne of raised roots, cradled by the branches which curled around her, giving her a crown of blood red leaves. Her eyes were closed, and she looked like she was peacefully asleep. Dead? He didn’t know. Only that the girl had been dying when Ned had brought her home last night. A stench of wound gone bad was not something a man would forget. There were thin little twigs of weirwood burrowing to her side, and unlike the rest of the tree, these were dark with blood. He shivered. Umber had seen a hundred battles, but the sight made him queasy.  
He would have called it a set-up, a sacrilege, but there was no sign of an axe on the tree, no fallen boughs, not even one red leaf. Umber did not know how it had happened, but the new shape of the tree had not been wrought by a hand of a man.  
“What happened, father?”, Stark’s oldest asked, his southron eyes blue and wide.  
“I don’t know.”, Stark said, looking like a man who had a seen a ghost. “She wanted to die here, under the heart tree. She begged me not to take her away. She was quiet, and calm. I must have fallen asleep… And when I woke up, it was like this.”  
“She’s of North. The Old Gods have claimed her.”, Rickard Karstark said gruffly.  
“Targaryens promised a royal princess for House Stark during the Dance of Dragons, but they never kept their promise. The Old Gods can sense a lie, and they suffer no oath breakers.”, the She-Bear remarked. “Besides, when the Beggar King sent his letters every house in North, didn’t he claim that Lyanna wasn’t stolen but Rhaegar married her in front of a heart tree on Isle of Faces?”  
“Aye.”, lord Glover nodded, staring at the odd sight before them. “I remember that letter. He proclaimed her a trueborn child and a princess.”  
It felt like the heart tree’s red eyes suddenly looked straight at him, and Umber shivered.  
“Ours.”, the words came out of his mouth like it was some other man speaking. “Our gods. Our tree. Our princess of ice and fire who sits on the weirwood throne.”  
A big black raven sat on the soldier’s pine next to the weirwood, and cawed:  
“Ours, ours.”  
“Not a word more!”, Ned Stark demanded. He was pale, and shaken, like all of them. “It’s a treason you are talking about. Robert is the king. We all fought for him in last war, and this one. Remember your oaths. I don’t know what this is, but Old Gods don’t suffer oath breakers like you said. As long as Robert lives, our loyalty belongs to him.”  
The northern lords looked each other, and then back to the heart tree. Sullenly, they slowly began to follow lord Stark out of the godswood.

 

The smell of smoke reached them before ravens did. The grey ash staining the squire’s cream-coloured doublet told his story before the exhausted boy ever opened his mouth.  
“Lord Stannis charged me to bring a word.”, he said. “He I would have stayed at his side, but he urged me to ride. He told me I must ride, no matter what happened. I didn’t want to go. I had sworn to serve him. I was his squire.”  
“Tell me.”, Ned Stark commanded, his long face set in stone.  
“It was a white dragon.”, the poor boy whispered. “It descended from the clouds and burned every ship in the harbour. People screamed and ran, and I saw a man burn so hot he turned into ashes in three breaths. It burned the winter storages of food and set New Keep to flames. Lord Stannis is dead, and I don’t know if Lord Manderly survived. My father and my little brother Stannis were on Black Betha…”, his voice broke.  
Lord Umber felt pity. There was no man who had not lost someone in a fight, but it was still a hard burden to carry, and harder still for young ones.  
“I thought the Red priestess... How could she burn?”, the boy asked helplessly. “Lady Melisandre served the Lord of Light. How could she burn?”  


The people were unsettled that night, and more than one sneaked in the godswood, where the silent princess sat on her weirwood throne.  
“What will we do when Robert comes to claim her head?”, lord Glover asked. “He’ll want it, knowing how he always goes on about accursed dragon spawn. I don’t think Ned is going to be able to change his mind.”  
“I don’t know.”, lord Karstark murmured, looking torn.  
“I don’t like going against the Old Gods.”, Glover said.  
“Neither do I.”, Karstark said. “I’m no oath breaker, but I won’t lift my hand against the girl. Lannister men are different. I don’t think the Old Gods care a shit about Lannisters.”

“Never thought I would see Manderlys burned.”, the She-Bear admitted gruffly.  
“That’s a dragon king for you.”, Umber said grimly. “I’m surprised it took the boy so long to bring his dragons on the field.”  
Glancing at the tree, he added in a low voice:  
“Guess he is pissed off for stealing the princess.”  
“Moat Cailin won’t hold against a dragon. All he needs to do is to sweep down on us, burn the food storages and leave us to starve. Without our stores and ships to sail south, winter will win his war for him.”, lady Mormont predicted darkly.  
“Aye.”, Umber nodded. “I hope Ned has a plan.”  
Glancing at the tree, he added:  
“It doesn’t matter much who rules in the south, as long as we’re left alone. I’ve got my hands full with wildings, and I want no dragons burning my villages.”  
“Two years is a long time to keep men at war, when they should be preparing for winter.”, she replied. They both fell silent and said no more.

\--  


A dragon was built for a war. Rhaella said that skinchanging bond went both ways; a man became more like his beast and beast became a man. Sometimes Viserys thought Targaryens had been built for dragons. All the evidence pointed that way. The world had a hundred thousand maids, but he loved only one. He knew most other men would think it disgusting, and turn away in shame, but Viserys had learned from early age that he must only love his lady wife with pure blood. He had always thought his lady wife would be his sister; after finding Rhaella in the woods of wild north, he had been so relieved because he didn’t know how he could ever stay true to his ancestors and marry someone he hated and loved as much as Daenerys. Daenerys had depended on him for everything when Viserys could offer her nothing, making him feel inadequate because he knew what she should have had. She never truly understood the depth of their loss, or his anger when she wanted to become a sailor and happily accept the shame which had been forcefully thrusted upon them.  
If Rhaella was dead, he might have to go back to Essos and marry Daenerys. The thought made his mouth twist and a sickly taste rose on his tongue; Viserys was not certain if he could stomach her long enough to get her with a child. He would probably have to chain her to a bed, put a sack over her head to avoid her sharp tongue and accusing eyes, and flee the keep as soon as his duty was done. It was not what any man would want from his marriage bed, since the Faith would likely continue being difficult and stick to their stance of allowing only one wife. He had spoken with Septon Barre after Rhaella kissed him in Aegon’s garden, and the Faith was not keen on marrying an uncle to a niece. The price they asked was too much; Viserys would not reinstate the Faith Militant which had brought nothing but trouble to kings before him. However, there was another option. Stannis Baratheon had owned a copy of “The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children” by Maester Malleon, the book which had given him a proof of Lannister incest and subsequently given Viserys an opening to start a war against weakened Usurper. Stannis had left a copy in chambers Viserys had taken at Dragonstone, and on one boring night, Viserys had decided to read it. Even though the followers of Old Gods had their share of taboos, they did not share the exact interpretations with Faith; while High Septon had protested against the suggested marriage between Maegor I and his niece Rhaena, in the North, Serena Stark had been married to her uncle, Edric and Serena’s sister Sansa Stark had been married to her uncle Jonnel.  


Arthur made a soft cooing noise of comfort, and Viserys scratched her scales absently. She had been acting strangely after Rhaella was taken; at times, she seemed more than a dragon. Viserys hoped it was a good sign, but he did not dare to trust it. False hopes would only bite deeper. There had been a lot of blood.  
  
He nudged Arthur; according to his calculations, they should be above Moat Cailin now. Making sure that the chains tying him to his saddle were properly attached, Viserys gave a nudge to Arthur.  
“Dive here and attack.”, he commanded in High Valyrian, and Arthur turned in the air, beating her magnificent wings. Viserys steeled himself and prepared for the rush.  
They dove through the clouds, and the wind made his eyes water. His hands gripped the chains, the unpleasant sensation of falling rolling in his stomach, and finally the white clouds parted to reveal the three towers of Moat Cailin below them. The men watching on the top of the tower had seen them; he was close enough to see the terror on their faces.  
“Dracarys.”, Viserys said.  


\--

She was lost in the river of memories. A pregnant woman rose from the black pool, praying for a son to avenge her. A pale, dark-haired youth cut three arrows from her tree and shaped them into arrows. Ned Stark as a young man, praying that he would learn to love his lady wife and put the bitterness towards Brandon behind him.

But something was pushing through the green stream of visions. A familiar presence, which poked and prodded and would not leave her be. It shrieked and clawed, swinging a great white tail and beating its wings until the quiet green shattered, and her vision sharpened in red.  
She was here, with him, and they flew low. A man stood before them, wearing a helmet with wide antlers and holding a warhammer in his hand. He was defiant, even though others around him were fleeing.  
“I killed your bloody rapist brother, and I will kill you, too. Get down and fight like a man, boy!”, he roared.  
Viserys’ hands gripped her sharp scales hard enough to draw blood from his flesh, and his voice was almost a whisper when he said:  
“Dracarys.”  
She opened her great jaws and bathed the false king in flame.

Rhaella opened her eyes wearily. There was a boy with red hair and blue eyes sitting near her.  
“Robert Baratheon is dead.”, she said, and he startled, looking like he had seen a ghost.

\--

It had taken the whole night to fly to Winterfell. He had originally thought of taking Robert Baratheon’s charred corpse as a proof, but Arthur was being difficult; the dragon was hungry after a long flight and did not understand why she couldn’t devour the cooked meat Viserys wanted her to carry in her claws. Finally, Viserys had settled for his helmet. It was recognizable, even though the damned antlers were annoying to hold on his lap.

Viserys was tired and almost relieved when the walls of Winterfell loomed in mid-morning sun. Urging Arthur to go on a little longer, he flew near the Winterfell gates and then dropped the Usurper’s helmet at the gates. Turning back, Viserys told Arthur to land behind an arrow’s distance from Winterfell. He dismounted, stretching his aching legs, and began to wait.

It was late afternoon when a small group of men appeared, walking down the King’s Road. They carried a white flag of parlay before them, and Arthur glared at them suspiciously, making a questioning noise.  
“Not unless they attack.”, Viserys said, stroking the dragon’s scales under her chin. He straightened his posture, standing as tall as he could while he watched the northern lords’ approach. Lord Stark led the little procession, and a sturdy young man with a red hair walked next to him. A lord and his heir, Viserys judged. Behind them was an older woman wearing a chainmail, and lord with long greying hair and beard. A Mormont and a Karstark.

 “The North will yield to you, on one condition.”, lord Stark said.  
Viserys bristled. Had he not fought them and slayed their king? One word from him, and Winterfell would share Harrenhall’s fate! The gall of them, to make demands!  
“My House was wronged by yours.”, Ned Stark continued. “Your brother stole my sister. Your father burned my father and brother unjustly. Also, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon promised a royal princess to marry into House Stark, but you never kept your promise. We need something stronger than a promise to trust dragons again.”  
Viserys narrowed his eyes.  
“You are not in a position to make demands.”, he reminded.  
“We can keep fighting forever, if that is what you want.”, Ned Stark said coolly. “You can burn Winterfell and earn the enmity of northmen forever. The North remembers, and we only want what was promised.”  
Viserys considered burning him, but Stark was right in a way. He could do without one rebelling kingdom, and promising Daenerys to them was not exactly a loss. If Starks promised to get her from Essos by themselves and never venture south again.  
“What is what you want, then? My sister is married.”, he said, watching Stark closely.  
“I have spoken with my lords, and we all agree. We will keep our holdings as they were. We also want a queen of Northern blood as a payment for the wrongdoings your house has committed and to seal the pact we were promised. It’s the will of the Old Gods. If we are to kneel, you must marry my niece. No second wives. I won’t let you disgrace my family.”  
Viserys felt like someone had kicked air out of him. He tried to desperately remember if Ned Stark had any other sisters, but of course he didn’t. Only Lyanna.  
“Rhaella?”, he asked, not daring to hope.  
Ned Stark nodded solemnly, and the lords behind him watched him carefully.  
Viserys smiled at them, not caring whether they saw his teeth or not, and said happily:  
“All right. Show me your heart tree, and I’ll do it at once.”  
It was obviously not the answer the northern lords had expected.  
 

\--

He stood next to a pool near an ancient weirwood tree and watched Rhaella walk past what must have been every living person in Winterfell gathered in godswood. Ned Stark was escorting her, holding a torch, and she was alive. A little pale, but she walked on her own, and she was not dead. It was enough for Viserys. He could have wept, but he was a king, and it would not do to weep in his own wedding.  
“Who comes before Old Gods this night?”, one of the northerners intoned.  
“Rhaella, of House Stark, comes here to be wed.”, Ned Stark replied firmly.  
Viserys knew he should have been insulted, because she was a Targaryen, not a Stark, but he couldn’t bother to care right now. She was smiling shyly at him, wearing a dress of white wool and a direwolf cloak.  
“She is a woman grown, trueborn and noble. Who comes to claim her?”, Stark continued.  
Viserys stepped forwards, like he had been hastily instructed, and said:  
“Viserys of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm.”  
He saw some of the nobles to grimace upon his declaration, and made a note of their sigils. He would deal with them later.  
“Who gives her?”, the man continued.  
“Eddard, of House Stark, her nuncle.”, Stark replied.  
Viserys thought he had never seen a woman so beautiful. She watched him, eyes soft as fog, and the cold made her cheeks rosy.  
“Lady Rhaella, will you take this man?”, the northerner asked.  
“I take this man.”, she said, and offered her hand to Viserys. He clasped it with both of his.  
“I thought you were dead.”, he whispered, and the man overseeing the ceremony glared at him, making gestures. Ah. They were supposed to kneel.  
So Viserys knelt, for the first and the last time in his life and bowed his head towards the heart tree. She pressed very close to him, keeping him between herself and the tree, and he stroked her hand with his thumb. Rhaella feared weirwood trees, he remembered.  
“I won’t let it have you.”, he whispered reassurance.  
She smiled at him when they stood up. He took her grey cloak away, handing it over to Ned Stark who looked wistful and worried – hadn’t the man had a happy thought in his whole life? This was a wedding! – and pulled his own cloak from his shoulders. Starks did not have a stash of three-headed dragon cloaks in their keep, but Viserys had one, of course. Rhaella had made it for him.  
He put his cloak over her shoulders and made a neat bowtie, checking the knot was firm and even. He did not want to make an ugly knot for his lady wife. Some of the older women were looking at him with a little bit too much mirth, their eyes twinkling with laughter, but Viserys was willing to ignore it. Just this once, because it was not malicious laughter. Tomorrow, of course, would be entirely different and then they should know better than giggle at their king.  
He scooped up his bride to his arms, and asked happily from Ned Stark:  
“Which way your hall is? I know we already established the guest right, but my lady wife should have a proper wedding.”  
Rhaella put her arms around his neck, smiling at him.  
“I don’t mind.”, she assured.  
“You are my queen, and you should have a feast in your wedding. We’ll feast on bread and water if we have to, but there will be a feast.”, Viserys said firmly. “You have no idea how I feel. I feared you were dead! I worried I would have to marry Daenerys, or Arianne Martell, and it was unbearable. They all are unbearable compared to you.”  
Ned Stark’s mouth was twitching, but he recovered quickly.  
“This way, Your Grace.”, he said, and showed them the way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. I've enjoyed writing this story. Rhaella is a very different heroine compared to my usual main characters, and even though it was difficult to think how to write a heroine who doesn't want to fight or lead or rule, it became easier with each chapter.  
> I also enjoyed Viserys. He was also difficult to get a grip on because I wanted to make him relatable but not smooth his worst features too much. I enjoyed writing the last chapter very much; his thoughts tend to differ quite a lot from his actions. Outside, he looks more mad than he actually is, because in this story he is well aware of his faults and how he is seen by others, but unable to change things because his fears are too strong. He and Rhaella both feel they are constantly failing to be what they were expected to be, but they find acceptance from each other and become stronger for it.
> 
> EDIT 9.3.19: I've tried to work on epilogue you asked for, but my drafts are not getting anywhere. Introducing Daenerys would require more than a single chapter - a real story since her relationship with Viserys is another can of worms entirely - so I'm currently thinking whether to do that. We'll see.


End file.
